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Winners  of  the  Patterson  Memorial  Cup. 


1905  John  Charles  McNeil.      "Songs  Merry  and  Sad" 

1906  Dr.  Edwin  Minis.      "Sidney  Lanier." 

1907  Dr.  K.  P.  Battle.      "History     of    the     University    of 

North  Carolina." 

1908  Captain  S.  A.  Ashe.      "History  of  North  Carolina." 

1909  Clarence  Poe.      "A  Southerner  in  Europe" 

1910  R.  D.  W.  Connor.      "Cornelius  Harnett" 

1911  Archibald  Henderson.      "Bernard  Shaw" 

1912  Clarence  Poe.  "Where  Half  the  World  is  Waking  up" 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 

in  2012  with  funding  from 

University  of  North  Carolina  at  Chapel  Hill 


http://archive.org/details/lyricsfromcottonOOmcne 


Lyrics1  from  Cotton   Land 


BY 

JOHN  CHARLES  McNEILL 


Drawings  by  A.   B.  Frost,   E.   W.  Kemble,   and  photO' 
graphs  by  Mrs.  W.   O.  Kibble 


THE  STONE  &  BARRINGER  COMPANY 

CHARLOTTE,  N.  C. 


Copyright,  1907 
By  THE  STONE  &  BARRINGER  COMPANY 


publisher's  note 

Many  of  these  verses  have  been  published  in 
the  Charlotte  Observer,  some  in  the  Century 
Magazine,  and  the  others  appear  first  in  this  book. 
To  the  Observer  and  the  Century  are  due  thanks 
for  their  permission  to  republish. 


: 


INTRODUCTION. 

The  story  of  a  rare,  gifted  soul  is  difficult  to 
write.  The  commonplace  man  is  usually  the  re- 
sultant of  forces  that  can  be  calculated.  The 
measuring  line  can  be  laid  to  his  life  ;  dates,  places 
and  movements  assume  great  significance.  But  it 
is  not  so  with  the  man  who  approaches  genius. 
His  soul  is  a  mystery ;  its  birth  and  growth  defy 
explanation ;  dates  and  circumstances  mean  little. 
To  write  a  true  biography  of  such  a  man,  inci- 
dents and  experiences  must  be  known  that  lie  be- 
yond the  research  of  the  scientific  student.  Such 
a  man  was  the  author  of  the  poems  contained  in 
this  volume.  And,  although  custom  compels  to 
write  the  usual  facts  of  birth  and  movement,  they 
are  written  briefly,  in  the  knowledge  that  they 
have  little,  significance  for  the  life  of  the  gifted 
spirit  which  sang  these  songs  to  men.    ' 

John  Charles  McNeill  was  the  second  son  of 
Duncan  and  Euphemia  Livingston  McNeill,  and 
was  born  at  their  country  place,  near  Laurinburg, 
in  Richmond  county,  N.  C,  on  July  26,   1874. 


J^jiRODUCTION 

He  grew  to  manhood  on  his  father's  farm,  living 
the  free,  happy,  normal  life  of  the  country  boy.  On 
the  surface  these  early  years  seem  to  have  been 
uneventful ;  they  were  marked  by  no  unusual  ex- 
periences or  incidents.  Work,  study,  and  play 
seem  to  tell  the  story.  But  the  achievements  of 
his  maturer  years  show  these  early  days  to  have 
been  the  determining,  formative  period  of  his  life. 
A  careful  and  sympathetic  examination  of  his 
writings  discovers  the  fact  that  almost  all  the 
dreams,  visions,  loves,  adorations  and  ecstasies  to 
which  he  gave  such  beautiful  expression,  came 
to  him  in  the  honest  work,  clean,  healthful  play 
and  idle  roaming  about  wood  and  field,  in  those 
early  and,  always  to  him,  happy  days.  He  knew 
and  loved  all  the  sights,  voices  and  moods  of  na- 
ture ;  he  was  nature's  child,  and  was  true  through 
all  after  years  to  this  Mother  of  the  Mystery. 

In  1893  McNeill  entered  Wake  Forest  College. 
The  college  records  show  that  he  was  an  unusual 
student,  and  in  English  his  work  was  little  less 
than  brilliant.  He  was  tutor  in  this  department 
in  his  first  year,  won  the  Dixon  medal,  given  to 
the  best  essayist  of  each  year,  and  was  editor-in- 
chief  of  the  "Wake  Forest  Student."  He  gradu- 
ated valedictorian  of  his  class  in  1898.  The  pe- 
riod immediately  following  his  graduation  seems 


vi 


/ 

INTRODUCTKWf 

to  have  been  one  of  uncertainty  and  unhappiness 
to  him.  He  returned  to  Wake  Forest  to  take  his 
master's  degree,  worked  as  instructor  in  English, 
and  studied  law.  During  the  year  1899-1900,  he 
filled  the  Chair  of  English  in  Mercer  University, 
at  Macon,  Georgia,  in  the  absence  of  the  profes- 
sor of  English,  and  did  admirable  work.  In  1900 
he  returned  to  North  Carolina  and  began  the 
practice  of  law  at  Lumberton.  He  often  said  to 
the  writer  that  he  was  happy  in  none  of  these 
things.    He  was  evidently  striving  to  find  himself. 

McNeill  had  some  success  in  the  practice  of  his 
profession,  and  he  was  elected  to  represent  the 
people  of  his  county  in  the  State  Legislature. 
But  his  heart  was  in  other  things.  He  would 
often  shut  his  office  door  to  friend  and  client  and 
try  to  write  out  some  vision  that  floated  in  his 
soul.  The  "Century  Magazine"  accepted  and  pub- 
lished some  of  his  productions  and  asked  for  other 
contributions.  He  did  work  for  a  local  paper 
and  wrote  occasionally  for  various  papers  and 
journals.  More  and  more  he  came  to  find  his  joy 
in  self-expression;  and  his  writing  began  to  at- 
tract the  attention  of  the  public. 

In  1904  the  "Charlotte  Observer"  discovered 
the  promise  in  this  gifted  man,  and  gave  him  his 
chance.     He  was  attached  to  the  staff  of  that 


vu 


INTRODUCTION 

paper  and  given  perfect  liberty  of  action.  He 
could  write  what  he  pleased  and  when  he  pleased, 
and  received  for  his  work  a  regular  and  adequate 
compensation.  Under  such  treatment  he  found 
himself.  His  soul  seemed  to  burst  into  blossom ; 
and  during  the  three  years  of  his  connection  with 
the  "Observer"  he  gave  to  the  world  almost  all 
his  best  work.  In  1905  he  was  awarded  the  Pat- 
terson Cup,  and  a  year  later  published  his  first 
volume  of  poems  under  the  title  "Songs,  Merry 
and  Sad."  Although  this  volume  was  published 
by  a  local  firm,  it  found  ready  sale  and  the  edi- 
tion was  soon  exhausted. 

In  the  early  months  of  1907  some  disease,  baf- 
fling to  friends  and  physicians  alike,  began  to  take 
hold  upon  him.  For  months  he  fought  a  brave 
fight  against  it  and  seemed  for  a  while  to  be  re- 
gaining his  strength.  But,  suddenly,  almost  with- 
out warning,  acute  nephritis  attacked  him  and  he 
fell  its  victim,  dying  on  the  17th  of  October,  1907. 

McNeill  was  a  man  of  unusual  physical  appear- 
ance ;  his  tall,  straight,  slender  figure,  his  thick 
iron-gray  hair  and  handsome  features  made  him  a 
marked  man  in  any  company.  His  eyes  were  re- 
markable. In  his  careless  moods  there  was  noth- 
ing unusual  in  them;  but  when  his  soul  was 
aflame  with  some  inner  vision,  his  eyes  glowed 


vm 


INTRODUCTION 

with  a  light  that  was  both  beautiful  and  com- 
pelling in  its  magnetism. 

He  had  the  open,  free  and  cordial  manner  o* 
the  gentleman  born  and  reared  in  the  country. 
He  knew  little  and  cared  less  for  social  conven- 
tions. There  was  about  him  that  charming  un- 
consciousness of  self  that  one  so  often  sees  in  the 
people  who  live  close  to  and  love  the  genuine 
things  of  nature.  It  is  the  estimate  of  all  who 
knew  him  well  that  McNeill  was  one  of  the  most 
lovable  of  men.  His  unselfishness,  his  freedom 
from  cant  and  pretension,  his  love  of  and  joy  in 
life,  his  perfect  candor  and  his  power  to  love  and 
be  interested  in  the  people  about  him,  made  him 
a  peerless  friend.  And  in  many  the  sorrow  for 
the  loss  to  the  State  and  Nation  of  this  fine,  rare 
and  gifted  spirit,  was  overshadowed  by  a  sense 
of  personal  bereavement. 


IX 


THE  PATTERSON  MEMORIAL  CUP. 


Magnificent  Trophy  as  an  Incentive  to  the  De- 
velopment of  Literary  Talent  in  North  Carolina. 


Philadelphia,  March  24. — As  a  memorial  to  her 
father,  the  late  Colonel  William  Houston  Patter- 
son, of  this  city,  and  as  an  incentive  to  the  devel- 
opment of  the  literary  talent  of  the  sons  and 
daughters  of  the  Old  North  State,  Mrs.  Lindsay 
Patterson,  of  Winston-Salem,  has  had  manufac- 
tured here  one  of  the  most  massive  and  magnifi- 
cent loving  cups  that  Philadelphia  jewelers  have 
ever  seen.  This  cup  is  to  be  presented  to  the 
North  Carolina  Historical  Society,  and  by  that 
society  is  at  the  end  of  the  year  to  be  turned  over 
to  that  resident,  native  North  Carolina  writer  who 
shall  have  achieved  the  greatest  literary  success 
during  the  year.  At  the  end  of  ten  years,  it  is  to 
become  the  property  of  the  person  who  shall  have 
won  it  the  greatest  number  of  times. 

Because  of  its  extraordinary  beauty,  and  be- 
cause of  the  story  of  filial  love  behind  it,  it  has 
attracted  great  attention. 


X] 


THE  PATTERSON   MEMORIAL  CUP 

The  cup  is  of  gold  and  of  massive  construction. 
Jt  stands  16  inches  high,  and  is  seven  inches  in 
diameter.  On  the  bases  of  the  three  handles  are 
the  coats  of  arms  of  North  Carolina,  Pennsyl- 
vania and  the  Patterson  family.  It  is  studded 
with  forty-nine  precious  stones,  all  being  North 
Carolina  gems,  selected  by  Mrs.  Patterson  from 
over  400  specimens.  It  bears  the  inscriptions : 
"The  William  Houston  Patterson  Cup,"  and  "Cor 
Cordium"  (Heart  of  Hearts). —  Philadelphia  Cor- 
respondent to  "Charlotte  (N.  C.)  Observer." 


XII 


PRESENTATION   OF   PATTERSON 
MEMORIAL  CUP. 

In  the  Senate  Chamber  in  the  State  Capitol, 
Thursday  morning,  October  19,  1905,  President 
Theodore  Roosevelt,  representing  the  North  Car- 
olina Literary  and  Historical  Association,  pre- 
sented to  Mr.  John  Charles  McNeill,  of  Charlotte, 
the  Patterson  Memorial  Cup,  awarded  him  for 
having  published  during  the  preceding  twelve 
months  work  showing  "the  greatest  excellence 
and  the  highest  literary  skill  and  genius."  Lieu- 
tenant-Governor Winston,  representing  the  Gov- 
ernor, presented  the  newly-elected  President  of 
the  Association,  ex-Governor  C.  B.  Aycock,  who 
then  stated  the  object  of  the  Cup  and  the  condi- 
tions of  the  award.  According  to  the  notes  fur- 
nished by  Mr.  Loeb,  the  President  said : 

"Mr.  McNeill  :  I  feel,  and  I  am  sure  all  good 
Americans  must  feel,  that  it  is  far  from  enough 
for  us  to  develop  merely  a  great  material  pros- 
perity. I  appreciate,  and  all  of  us  must,  that  it  is 
indispensable  to  have  the  material  prosperity  as 


xiu 


PRESENTATION  OF  PATTERSON   MEMORIAL  CUP 

a  foundation,  but  if  we  think  the  foundation  is 
the  entire  building,  we  never  shall  rank  as  among 
the  nations  of  the  world ;  and  therefore  it  is  with 
peculiar  pleasure  that  I  find  myself  playing  a 
small  part  in  a  movement,  such  as  this,  by  which 
one  of  the  thirteen  original  States,  one  of  our 
great  States,  marks  its  sense  of  proper  proportion 
in  estimating  the  achievements  of  life,  the  achieve- 
ments of  which  the  Commonwealth  has  a  right  to 
be  proud.  It  is  a  good  thing  to  have  the  sense 
of  historic  continuity  with  the  past,  which  we  get 
largely  through  the  efforts  of  just  such  historic 
societies  as  this,  through  which  this  Cup  is 
awarded  to  you.  It  is  an  even  better  thing  to  try 
to  do  what  we  can  to  show  our  pleasure  in  and 
approval  of  productive  literary  work  in  the  pres- 
ent. Mr.  McNeill,  I  congratulate  you  and  North 
Carolina." 

Mr.  McNeill's  reply  follows: 

"Mr.  President,  my  joy  in  this  golden  trophy  is 
heightened  by  the  fortune  which  permits  me  to 
take  it  from  the  hand  of  the  foremost  citizen  of 
the  world.  To  you,  sir,  to  Mrs.  Lindsay  Patter- 
son, our  gracious  matron  of  letters,  and  to  the 
committee  of  scholars  whose  judgment  was  kind 
to  me,  all  thanks." 


xiv 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Mr.  Nigger i 

Spring 4 

Hardihood 6 

A  Protest 7 

Preacherly  Preference  8 

Springtime 9 

^One  Sided 1 1 

'T  ain't  Long 13 

^JJluffers 14 

Nigger  Demus 15 

Wishing 18 

The  Catfish 20 

^olk  Song 23 

Three  Hypotheses 24 

A  Modest  Ploughman 26 

,>The  August  Meeting 29 

Salutations 32 

Po'  Baby 33 

'Ligion 34 

*A  Few  Days  Off 35 

I  Noontime 37 

xv 


\ 


■ 

CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Diseases 39 

A  Tar  Heel 41 

Every  Man's  Way 42 

A  Summer  Resort 43 

The  Trickster  Tricked 45 

/.Be  Shame  50 

A  Dream  of  You , 51 

Environment 53 

'Possum  Time  Again 55 

i  psft oah's  Ark 56 

A  Monologue 62 

De  Three  Frosties 63 

'   Punishment 64 

Obedience 65 

^Weather  Signals 66 

/-Utopia 67 

The  Raccoon 68 

The  Crow's  Shadow 70 

In  a  Canoe 72 

^-"Maming  the  Animals 75 

The  Red  Shirts 77 

t  Poor  Old  Ben 79 

For  Corn  Shuckings 81 

One  Day 82 

A  Hindrance ...  84 

l^A  Pallet  Sleeper 86 

Substitutes 87 

xvi 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

Bedtime 89 

The  Persimmon  Tree 91 

0  Believing  Where  We  Cannot  Prove  " 94 

Convenient  Theology 95 

Baby's  Noggin 97 

Black  Molasses 98 

Old  Aunt  Pleasant 100 

The  Crown  of  Power 103 

The  Rejected  Scotsman , .  104 

A  Soft  Snap 109 

Ambition no 

.sJThe  Siesta 112 

The  Diediper 114 

Snakes 116 

Mysteries 118 

Baby's  Legs 119 

Grass 120 

The  Varmint  Convention 121 

The  Coon  from  the  College  Town 124 

If 126 

Tot  and  Ted 127 

Boys'  Visions 130 

Holding  Off  the  Calf 133 

When  the  Calves  Get  Out 135 

Cats 137 

To  Alfonso  XIV 141 

A  Tomtit  Messenger 144 

xvii 


CONTENTS 

PAGE 

To  One  Who  Is  Good , 146 

Dew , j 147 

Race  Suicide 148 

The  First  Flower 150 

Dead.-. 152 

Viewpoints 155 

Old  Jim  Swink 156 

The  Doodle  Bug 159 

Autumn 163 

The  Three  Tots 165 

At  the  Dance 167 

Selfishness 171 

Deserted 173 

Grandaddy-Long-Legs 174 

The  Castle  Builder 175 

To-Morrow 177 

A  Choice  179 

The  Iron  Door 181 

The  Tenant 183 

Horsemint 184 

In  the  Woods 186 

To  Sleep 188 


XVlll 


MR.  NIGGER 

How  could  we  do  without  you, 

Mr.  Nigger? 
Could  we  not  talk  about  you, 

Mr.  Nigger, 
We  'd  have  to  quit  our  politics, 
'T  would  put  our  papers  in  a  fix, 
We  'd  have  to  start  and  learn  new  tricks, 

Mr.  Nigger. 

Ah,  ragtime  would  be  sadly  misst, 

Mr.  Nigger!. 
There  'd  be  no  elocutionist, 

Mr.  Nigger. 
The  coon-song's  flow  would  then  be  checked, 
The  minstrel  show  would  soon  be  wrecked 
And  writers  of  your  dialect, 

Mr.  Nigger. 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON   LAND 

I  cannot  see,  if  you  were  dead, 

Mr.  Nigger, 
How  orators  could  earn  their  bread, 

Mr.  Nigger; 
For  they  could  never  hold  the  crowd 
Save  they  abused  you  long  and  loud 
As  being  a  dark  and  threatening  cloud, 

Mr.  Nigger. 

But  plough  my  land  and  barn  my  crop, 

Mr.  Nigger. 
I  '11  furnish  sorghum  for  your  sop, 

Mr.  Nigger. 
And  see  you  earn  your  money's  worth, 
Else,  when  dull  times  possess  the  earth, 
I  '11  burn  you  to  excite  the  North, 

Mr.  Nigger. 

You  're  a  vast  problem  to  our  hand, 
Mr.  Nigger. 


MR.    NIGGER 

Your  fame  is  gone  throughout  the  land, 

Mr.  Nigger. 
The  heart  of  all  this  mighty  nation 
Is  set  to  work  out  your  salvation, 
But  don't  you  fear  expatriation, 

Mr.  Nigger. 


SPRING 

I  axed  de  chillun  fer  de  joke 
Dat  made  'em  laugh  en  run. 

"It  ain't  no  joke,"  dey  says ;  "we  's  jis' 
Er-natchly  havin'  fun." 

I  axed  a  rooster  mockin'bird, 

When  I  had  cotch  his  eye, 
"Why  does  you  sing  all  day  en  night?" 

Says  he,  "I  dunno  why." 

I  axed  a  yearlin'  why  he  pawed 

De  dust  up  in  de  lane. 
He  bellered  out  his  sass,  "Boo-boo! 

I  feels  lak  raisin'  cain!" 


"  King  Cotton." 

Hibiscus  Gossypium. 

Malvaceae  (Mallow  Family). 


SPRING 

En  den  de  chillun,  bird,  en  kef 

Axed  why  I  felt  so  good. 
S'  I,  "Don't  ax  me.    Kerwhoop !"  says  I. 

"It 's  supp'n'  in  my  blood !" 


HARDIHOOD 

De  drouf  hit  pahched  our  crap  at  fust 
En  de  rain  done  drown  it  now, 

But  whe'r  it  freshet  or  whe'r  it  dust 
De  crabgrass  gwine  a  grow, 

Grow, 
De  crabgrass  gwine  a  grow. 

De  cawn  jis'  want  some  scuse  to  quit, 
En  cotton's  a  reg'lar  chile, 

But  de  sun  kin  scawch  en  de  rain  kin  spit, 
But  de  crabgrass  wear  a  smile, 

Smile, 
De  crabgrass  wear  a  smile. 


A  PROTEST 

De  cawn  is  drapped  en  civered 
Fer  de  crow  to  grabble  out. 

De  shoat  he  fin's  de  'tater  bed 
Befo'  dey  'gins  to  sprout. 

De  hen  hatch  out  her  chickens 
Whilst  de  hawk  bees  lookin'  on, 

En  'fo'  de  cherries  ripens  good 
De  birds  is  got  'em  gone. 

Dey  all  steals  fum  de  nigger  man, 

But  if  de  nigger  steals 
Dey  putts  him  on  de  chaingang 

Wid  a  weight  behin'  his  heels. 


PREACHERLY  PREFERENCE 

I  laks  to  plough  in  a  stubble  fiel' 

Among  de  dews  en  damps, 
Whar  now  en  den  yo'  plough  turns  up 

A  passle  er  fox-fire  lamps. 
De  dirt  slide  off  er  de  turn-plough  whing 

En  rumple  in  turnin'  over, 
Wid  de  dead  crab-grass  en  de  dead  peavines 

En  a  few  green  clumps  er  clover. 

But  keep  me  out  er  de  new-groun'  Ian', 

'Ca'se  I  's  a  preacher,  boss, 
En  no  preacher  wa'n't  made  fer  no  new-groun' 
han' 

Behin'  no  fidgity  hoss. 
De  roots,  en  switches,  en  stumps,  en  hoi's, 

En  de  briers — I  tells  you  plain, 
When  I  ploughs  sich  new-groun'  Ian',  it  gives 

My  'ligion  a  powerful  strain ! 

8 


SPRINGTIME 

O  catfish  in  de  eddy, 

When  de  moon  is  in  de  full ! 
O  watermillion  ready 

'Mongs'  yo'  dewy  leaves,  to  pull ! 
O  choofies,  sugar-rooted ! 

Us  women  en  us  men 
Is  all  done  back  bar'footed, 

'Ca'se  de  springtime's  come  again. 

De  bullbat  'gins  to  beller 

Across  de  shimmery  hill. 
T  ain't  long  befo'  a  feller 

Kin  hear  de  whuppoorwill. 
De  hawk  sets  roun'  en  watches 

De  biddies  wid  de  hen, 
Er-scratchin'  in  de  doodle  dust, 

'Ca'se  springtime's  come  again. 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

Dirt-daubers  soon  be  squealin', 

Shapin'  up  deir  mud, 
En  a  sort  er  sleepy  feelin' 

'LI  git  gwine  along  yo'  blood, 
Till  you  lose  yo'  holt,  en  dozes, 

En  jerks,  en  wakes  up — den 
De  fus'  thing  dat  you  knows  is 

Dat  de  springtime's  come  again. 


I© 


ONE  SIDED 

Is  I  boun'  to  keep  de  Sabbath  day, 

When  de  hawk  goes  free? 
Is  I  boun'  to  set  in  my  yahd  en  pray 
En  let  dem  crows  in  de  cawn-patch  stay 
En  grabble  en  tote  my  cawn  away? 

Hit's  funny  to  me ! 

If  de  varmints  '11  knock-off  workin',  too, 

En  set  in  de  sun, 
I'll  rest  en  pray  de  whole  day  thoo; 
But,  if  dey  goes  loose  en  is  gwine  a  do 
Wut  dey  pleases,  den  'tain't  Shoo,  shoo ! 

But  it  's  Bang !  wid  de  gun. 

It's  mighty  po'  rest  to  be  shet  in  a  stall, 
Lak  you  got  no  sense ; 

II 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON   LAND 

It's  mighty  po'  prayin'  when  de  watch-crow  call 
Fum  de  scare-crow's  head,  en  de  chicken  squall; 
En  it's  mighty  po'  'lie-ion  when  Sunday's  all 
Dis  side  er  de  fence ! 


12 


T  AIN'T  LONG 

Tie  a  new  cracker 

Upon  de  ol'  lash; 
Roll  up  de  log  heaps 

En  burn  all  de  trash ; 
Scooter  de  newgroun', 

Dreen  out  de  pon' ; 
Bone  off  fer  cotton 

En  bed  up  fer  cawn. 

'T  ain't  long  'fo'  drappin' 

De  seed  in  de  groun' ; 
'T  ain't  long  'fo'  choppin' 

En  sidin'  aroun' ; 
'T  ain't  long  'fo'  tassels 

En  blooms  gits  in  prime ; 
Uh-uh!  it  ain't  long 

'Fo'  lay  in '-by  time! 


BLUFFERS 

Buzzin-'  white-nose  bumblebee, 
Buzz  en  buzz  yo'  whing; 

Dart  off  faster  'n  I  kin  see, 

En  shoot  back  whar  you  used  to  be. 

You  can't  putt  no  bluff  on  me : 
You  don't  tote  no  sting ! 

Adder,  hissin'  at  my  toe, 

You  ain't  got  no  p'ison ! 
Draw  yo'  head  en  strack  yo'  blow. 
Spread  yo'  jaws  wide  out,  jis'  so. 
You  can't  fool  me.    You  don't  know 

Who  you  got  yo'  eyes  on. 


14 


NIGGER  DEMUS 

Dis  is  anudder  Sunday  when  I  done  fugit  my 

specks. 
I  '11  hatter  'pen',  my  bruddern,  'pon  de  'memb'- 

ance  er  de  tex'. 
'N'  if  you-all  wants  a  snow-white  tent  up  hyander 

in  de  skies 
You  better  keep  de  Scripters  in  yo'  head,  en  not 

yo'  eyes. 

Now,  while  de  hat  is  pas'  aroun'  by  Bill  en  Poly- 
phemus, 

I  's  gwine  a  tell  you  supp'n'  'bout  dat  gre't  man, 
Nigger  Demus — 

But  watch  de  hat,  my  bruddern,  when  dey  goes 
to  make  deir  change: 

Dey's  good  folks,  but  in  spite  er  dat  don't  give 
'em  too  much  range. 

15 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

Ol'  Nigger  Demus  come  by  night,  as  we  is  'sem- 

bled  now ; 
He  didn'  have  time  to  come  by  day,  beca'se  he 

had  to  plough; 
En  Jawn  de  Baptis'  met  him  en  he  ax  him  whar 

he  's  gwine, 
En  Demus  say  he  want  to  know  wut  chu'ch  he 

better  jine. 
Jawn  watch'  a  cloud  across  de  moon,  en  study 

little  while. 
En  den  he  turnt  to  Demus  en  he  says,  "You  makes 

me  smile." 
Says  'e,  "De  Baptis'  chu'ch,"  he  says,  " 's  de 

chu'ch  you  otter  jine, 
'Ca'se,  glory  halleloolyer !  in  de  fus'  place,  it  is 

mine. 
"En  den,"  says  'e,  "it  's  natchel :  de  dog  he  lacks 

to  swim, 
But  it  take'  a  sight  er  creepin'  'fo'  you  git  to 

sprinkle  him; 

16 


NIGGER   DEMUS 

De  tarpin  he  look  up  en  see  a  shower  comin'  on, 
En  chook!  he  dive'  fum  off  his  log  deep  down 
into  de  pon'." 

"Dat  's  so,"  says  Demus — dat  a-way — "I  laks  to 

dive  myse'f, 
But  'fo'  de  rain  kin  ketch  me,  Jawn,  I  sho  runs 

out  er  bref. 
So  some  day  when  it  's  good  en  warm  en  de 

sun  come  out  to  shine, 
You  tell  me  whar  yo'  chu'ch  is  at,  beca'se  I  'ten's 

to  jine." 

He  didn'  know  no  doctrine,  but  he  knowed  a  sign 

en  wonder, 
En  so  he  went  wid  Jawn  one  day,  en  Jawn  he 

putt  him  under. 
En  dat's  why  Sal  en  Bill  en  Ben  en  Heck  en  ol' 

Br'er  Remus 
En  all  de  niggers  jine  de  chu'ch  jis'  same  as 

Nigger  Demus. 

17 


WISHING 

I  wisht  I  wus  a  hummin'  bird. 

I  'd  nes'  in  a  wilier  tree. 
Den  noth'n'  but  supp'n'  wut  goes  on  wings 

Could  ever  git  to  me. 

I  wisht  I  wus  a  snake.    I  'd  crawl 

Down  in  a  deep  stump  hole. 
Noth'n'  'u'd  venture  down  in  dar, 

Into  de  dark  en  col'. 

But  jis'  a  nigger  in  his  shack, 
Wid  de  farlight  in  de  chinks — 

Supp'n'  kin  see  him  ever'  time 
He  even  so  much  as  winks. 


18 


WISHING 

It  's  a  natchel  fac'  dat  many  a  time 

I  wisht  I  wus  supp'n'  wil' ; 
A  coon  or  a'  owl  or  a  possum  or  crow — 

Leas'ways,  a  little  while. 

I  'd  lak  to  sleep  in  a  holler  gum 
Or  roost  in  a  long-leaf  pine, 

Whar  nothin'  'u'd  come  to  mess  wid  me 
Or  ax  me  whar  I  's  gwine. 


*9 


THE  CATFISH 

When  de  nights  is  warm  en  de  moon  is  full, 
You  kin  ketch  mo'  cats  dan  you  cares  to  pull. 

No  trouble  'bout  de  bait ; 
A  grub  '11  do  or  a  liT  fat  meat, 
Fer  all  he  wants  is  supp'n'  to  eat, 

En  he  ain't  no  han'  to  wait. 

Ner  dar  ain't  no  trouble  'bout  luck  wid  him. 
You  kin  tie  yo'  line  to  a  swingin'  limb, 

En  when  you  goes  to  look, 
You'll  fin'  dat  limb  a-dodgin'  roun', 
En  bubbles  risin'  en  floatin'  on  down, 

En  a  catfish  on  yo'  hook. 

But  I  chooses  to  take  a  pole  in  mine 
En  git  in  a  splotch  er  bright  moonshine 

20 


THE   CATFISH 


it* 


"  I  LETS  HIM  SHOW  HIS  MAN  " 


51 


LYRICS   FROM    COTTON   LAND 

En  fish  dar  wid  my  han' ; 
I  knows,  den,  when  he  hits  his  lick 
(He  swallows  de  hook;  you  needn'  be  quick), 

En  I  lets  him  show  his  man. 

When  I  slings  him  out  on  de  good  dry  grass, 
He  don't  complain,  but  he's  full  er  sass. 

He  kicks  a  little  while, 
Den  lays  dar,  wid  a  pleasing  look, 
En,  while  I's  rippin'  out  de  hook, 

He  takes  it  wid  a  smile. 


22 


FOLK  SONG 

If  you  don't  b'lieve  dat  train  kin  run, 

Honey ; 
If  you  don't  b'lieve  dat  train  kin  run, 
Come  en  lemme  tell  you  wut  de  train  done  done, 

Honey. 

It  lef  Savanner  at  de  settin'  er  de  sun, 

Honey ; 
It  lef  Savanner  at  de  settin*  er  de  sun, 
En  it  fotch  me  home  by  half-pas'  one, 

Honey ! 


23 


THREE  HYPOTHESES' 

If  Marse  Adam  wus  white,  Rose  Anner, 

If  Miss  Eve  wus  white  lak  him 
(Dat's  how  de  pictures  makes  'em; 

De  Scriptur'  's  a  leetle  dim), 
Den  whar  did  de  nigger  come  fum? 

'T  wus  a  pine  wid  a  'simmon  limb; 
If  Marse  Adam  wus  white,  Rose  Anner, 

En  Miss  Eve  wus  white  lak  him. 

If  Nora  wus  white,  my  honey 

(Nora  wut  built  de  ark) 
Den  de  nigger  's  a  sort  er  a  bluebird 

Hatch  out  fum  de  tgg  er  a  lark. 
But  dat  don't  never  happen, 

En  dat  question  still  bees  dark, 
If  Nora  wus  white,  my  honey, 

En  his  chillun  in  dat  ark. 

24 


THREE    HYPOTHESES 

I  is  a  sunburnt  white  man, 

'F  a  minner  's  a  little  trout. 
You  mus'  go  deeper'n  dis  here  hide 

To  git  de  nigger  out. 
'F  you  skint  me  slam  fum  head  to  heel, 

New  nigger-hide  'u'd  sprout. 
Yas;  I's  a  sunburnt  white  man — 

'F  a  minner's  a  little  trout. 


*5 


A  MODEST  PLOUGHMAN 

When  crabgrass  gits  a  half  a  show, 
'Count  er  some  rainy  clays,  to  grow 
En  fuzzes  green  along  de  row, 
'T  ain't  wuth  while  den  to  try  to  hoe 

Dat  whole  plantation  clean. 
De  bes'  way  is  de  way  dat  's  cheap, 
En  I  kin  take  a  two-inch  sweep, 
Runnin'  at  p'int  two  inches  deep, 

En  kill  out  Gineral  Green. 

Yes ;  gimme  sich  a  plow  as  dat 

'N'  I  '11  hoi'  my  upright  frame  plum  flat, 

En  whar  dat  grass  wus  sich  a  mat 


26 


A  MODEST  PLOUGHMAN 

You  couldn'  tell  whar  a  hoe  been  at, 

I  '11  wrop  dat  cotton  roun' 
As  neat  en  cool  wid  fresh  black  dirt 
As  a  man's  body  fits  his  shirt, 
En  reg'lar — not  right  here  a  spurt      .'■;". 

En  hyander  grassy  groun'. 

Farmers  is  got  a  heap  to  l'arn 
'Fo'  dey  gits  wut  's  comin'  to  deir  barn. 
If,  'stid  er  har'n'  hoe-han's  en  har'n' 
Plough-han's  wut  ain't  wuth  a  darn, 

Dey  'd  all  git  men  lak  me, 
Dis  county  'd  brag  de  bigges'  sales 
Er  cotton  seed  en  cotton  bales, 
Spite  er  spring  drouth  en  'noctial  gales, 

On  dis  side  er  de  sea. 

En  dis  ain't  whoopin'  up  myse'f. 
De  crabgrass  natchly  hoi'  its  bref 
When  I  comes  'long ;  'ca'se  dat  means  de'f ; 
It  knows  dar  ain't  none  gwine  be  lef, 

27 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON   LAND 

Whar  I  has  made  my  tracks. 
I  says  dis  jis'  beca'se  it  's  so. 
I  kinder  thought  you  'd  lak  to  know. 
Don't  think  I  's  tryin'  to  brag  en  blow ; 

I  alius  deals  in  fac's. 


28 


THE  AUGUST  MEETING 

It  wus  at  our  Augus'  meetin' 

When  dar  wa'n't  nigh  room  f  er  seatin' 
All  de  sinners  en  de  saved  wut  come  to  it ; 

But  dar  wa'n't  no  pride  en  poutin' ; 

Dey  fell  in  line  to  shoutin' 
Lak  dey  's  gwine  git  all  de  'ligion  dey  could  git. 

I  ain't  er-tryin'  to  fool  you, 

But  when  Heck  bawl,  "Halleloolyer !" 

All   dem  niggers   bounce   right   up   en   'gin  to 
prance, 
En  when  ol'  Heck  would  holler 
Den  dem  common  coons  would  foller, 

Till  de  flo'  wus  full  er  people  in  a  trance. 

You  could  see  de  preacher  swayin' 
En  er-preachin'  en  er-prayin', 

29 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON   LAND 

But  you  couldn'  hear  de  loudes'  word  he  sayed. 
De  benches  kep'  er-breakin', 
En  de  fuss  dey  kep'  er-makin* 

Teared  wuss  'n  all  de  fuss  dey  'd  done  en  made. 

Now,  Ander  is  a  nigger 

Wut  's  too  quick  upon  de  trigger ; 

His  eyes  is  white  as  snow,  his  gums  is  blue ; 
When  Heck  ram'  up  ag'in'  'im, 
De  scrappin'  blood  riz  in  'im, 

En  he  retch  en  fotch  his  razor  fum   his  shoe. 

Some  ubbm  friz  to  Ander, 

En  dey  hilt  Heck  over  hyander, 
Whilst  de  chillun  en  de  gals  wus  runnin'  out. 

Den  Heck  haul  back  en  hit  'im, 

Dat  bluegum  nigger  bit  'im, 
En  de  whole  chu'ch  full  er  gemmen  up  en  fou't. 

Dar  wus  razors,  knives,  en  wrenches; 
Planks  fum  offen  busted  benches, 
En  some  ubbm  made  a  club  er  deir  brogans. 

30 


Polygon atum  Commutatum. 

convallariaceae  (llly-of-the-v  alley  family). 

(Solomon's  Seal.) 


THE  AUGUST  MEETING 

Oh,  dey  putt  one  ner  to  sleepin' 
Wid  ever'  sort  er  weepin', 
En  I  seed  one  fool  er-fightin'  wid  his  han's. 

Wid  all  deir  fights  en  trances, 

Deir  holy  shakes  en  dances, 
Dey  stayed  dar  till  de  roosters  'gun  to  crow ; 

En  de  rain  beat  out  de  cotton, 

De  fodder  hung  dar,  rotten, 
En  de  shattered  peas  wus  sproutin'  in  de  row. 


31 


SALUTATIONS 

How  is  you  dis  mornin'? 

I  's  so  's  to  be  about. 
En  yo'  pi'  man  is  well,  I  hopes  ? 

Yes ;  he  gits  in  en  out. 
En  how  is  all  de  f  ambly  ? 

Dey  ain't  complainin'  none. 
En  yo'  po'  conju'd,  hoodooed  boy? 

Lak  a  lizzud  in  de  sun. 


32 


PO'  BABY 

Wut  make'  you  keep  on  cryin'  en  cryin'  ? 

I  do'  know  wut  to  do. 
Dar  ain't  no  pin  dat  I  kin  fin' 

Er-stickin'  in  you. 

I  b'lieve  you  's  jis'  er-makin'  out, 

Er-thinkin'  maybe 
Dat  I  's  er-gwine  a  tote  you  'bout, 

Sayin',  'To',  po'baby!" 

Po'  baby,  is  he  feelin'  sick? 

Po'  baby,  is  he  ailin'? 
Come  on !    Less  us  play  a  trick ! 

Whoopee !    Ain't  we  sailin' ! 


33 


'LIGION 

De  Augus'  meetin'  's  over  now. 

We  's  all  done  been  baptize', 
Me  en  Ham  en  Hick'ry  Jim 

En  Joe's  big  Lize. 

Oh,  'ligion  is  a  cu'i's  thing 
In  its  workin'  amongs'  men! 

We  '11  hatter  wait  a  whole  yur  now 
'Fo'  bein'  baptize'  again ! 


34 


A  FEW  DAYS  OFF 

I  ain't  gwine  a  work  till  my  dyin'  day ; 

'F  I  ever  lays  up  enough, 
I's  gwine  a  go  off  a  while  en  stay; 

I'll  be  takin'  a  few  days  off. 
'Ca'se  de  jimson  weeds  don't  bloom  but  once, 

En  when  dey's  shed  dey's  shed; 
En  when  you  's  dead,  'tain't  jis'  a  few  mont's, 

But  you's  gwine  be  a  long  time  dead. 

I  knowed  a'  ol'  man  died  powerful  rich — 

Two  mules  en  Ian'  en  a  cow. 
I  jis'  soon  die  fum  fallin'  in  a  ditch, 

Fer  he  went  to  's  grave  fum  's  plow. 
He  never  had  nothin'  't  wus  good  to  eat 

Ner  no  piller  upon  his  bed ; 
He  never  took  time  to  dance  wid  his  feet, 

But  he's  gwine  a  take  a  long  time  dead. 

35 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

I  knowed  a'  ol'  ooman  wut  scrubbed  en  hoed, 

En  never  didn'  go  nowhar, 
En  when  she  died  de  people  knowed 

Dat  she  had  supp'n'  hid  'bout  dar. 
She  mought  'a'  dressed  up  en  'a'  done,  supp'n' 
wrong 

En  had  'er  a  coht-case  ple'd'. 
But  she  didn'  have  time  to  live  veh  long ; 

She's  gwine  have  a  plenty  dead. 

So  I  says,  if  I  manage  to  save  enough 

Fum  de  wages  I  gits  dis  yur, 
I  is  right  den  takin'  a  few  days  off 

At  one  thing  en  an'er. 
'Ca'se  while  I  is  got  my  mouf  en  eyes 

En  a  little  wheel  in  my  head, 
Ps  gwine  a  live  fas',  fer  when  I  dies 

I'll  sho  be  a  long  time  dead. 


36 


NOONTIME 

M^  shadder  shortened  slow, 

Roun'  by  roun', 
En  [  thought  dat  dinner  horn 

'U'd  never  soun' ; 
But  de  sun  kep'  on  er-crawlin' 
Till  at  las'  dat  horn  wus  callin', 
En  my  lines  wa'n't  no  time  fallin' 

Tu  de  groun'. 

When  I  laid  dem  harness  back 

Orv  de  beam, 
Dat  mule  he  woke  up  wide 

En  quit  his  dream. 
He  didn't  need  no  paddle 
En  I  didn't  need  no  saddle. 
Me  en  him — Skeedump,  skeedaddle  !- 

Wus  a  team! 

37 


LYRICS  FROM  COTTON  LAND 

If  you  'd  er-seed  us  gwine 

Home  dat  day, 
You  'd  'a'  thought  'twus  dat  wus  gittin 

Us  our  pay, 
Fer  dat  po'  ol'  sleepy  critter 
Made  de  geese  en  chickens  scatter, 
En  her  ol'  feet  went  clap-clatter 

Ton  de  clay. 

Her  feelin's  wa'n't  so  powerful 

Fur  fum  mine. 
It  makes  a  dififer'nce  wut  's  ahead 

En  wut  's  behin'. 
Wh'er  it  's  to  er  fum  de  table, 
Wh'er  it  's  in  er  out  de  stable, 
Wut  make  you  ail'n'  er  able 

'S  whar  you  's  gwine. 


38 


DISEASES 

(illustrating  folk  etymology)1 

I  once  et  too  much  sparrowgrass  : 

Dey  thought  I  's  dead,  '11  I  breaved  on  glass. 

Cornsumption  wrastle  mighty  strong; 
St.  Fighter's  dance  fou't  fast  en  long; 

De  foxfire  got  amongs'  my  spleen, 
En  yaller  johnnies  turnt  me  green; 

Brownskeeters  would  n'  lemme  breave, 
En  de  collard-marbles  made  me  heave. 

But  I  kyored  myse'f,  as  you  kin  see, 
Wid  calamis  root  en  horehoun*  tea» 

Ner  all  my  life  I  ain't  seed  fit 
To  go  to  no  horse-spittle  yit. 

39 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

But  now,  fer  all  de  fights  I  's  fou't, 
I  's  feared  at  las'  I  '11  git  knocked  out, 

Fer  de  toughest  rail  er  all  de  riders 
Is  boun'  to  be  dis  pender-ciders. 

When  it  hits  a  man,  de  only  plan 
Is  to  go  right  natchly  in  dat  man, 

En  rummage  'roun'  en  kyarve  about 
Till  you  gits  dat  pender-ciders  out. 

No  kine  er  calamis  en  tea 

Gwine  keep  dat  zease  fum  sett'n'  you  free, 

En  dis  here  nigger  he  don't  brag, 
But  'roun'  his  neck  he  totes  a  bag, 

En  in  dat  bag — jis'  sniff  en  see- 
Bees  a  ball  er  assyfidity ! 

40 


A  TAR  HEEL 

Oh,  I  gits  my  stren'th  fum  white-side  meat, 
I  sops  all  de  sorghum  a  nigger  kin  eat, 
I  chaws  wheat  bread  on  Saddy  night, 
En  Sunday  's  when  my  jug  gits  light. 

I  kin  cut  mo'  boxes  'n  a  shorter  while, 
Den  any  'er  coon  fer  forty  mile'; 
I  kin  dip  mo'  tar  en  scrape  mo'  scrape 
En  leave  my  crap  in  better  shape, 

En  chip  en  pull  en  corner  finer, 
Den  any  'er  coon  in  No'th  Killiner. 
When  it  comes  to  bein'  a  turk'ntime  han', 
Count  Loftin  fer  a  full-size'  man. 


41 


EVERY  MAN'S  WAY 

Out  in  the  town  I  'd  die  if  people  knew 
I  took  this  little  glove  and  kissed  it  so ; 

Last  thing  at  night,  when  footfall  sounds  are  few 
And  she  who  wore  it  sleeps  as  still  as  snow. 

For,  if  they  saw  me,  they  would  laugh,  and  I 
Should  blush  and  drop  my  eyes  and  turn  in 
shame 

And  curse  me  for  a  fondling  fool  and  try 
To  laugh  and  rob  my  folly  of  its  fame. 

But  now  the  door  is  shut !  and  I  can  bless 
And  kiss  this  wrinkled  scrap,  and  care  no  whit 

How  great  my  heart  may  grow  with  tenderness 
Or  what  dear  love-words  I  may  say  to  it. 


42 


Cornus  Florida. 

CORNACEAE   (DOGWOOD    FAxMILY.) 

(Flowering  Dogwood.) 


A  SUMMER  RESORT 

Under  and  in  a  dogwood  tree 
They  've  made  a  modern  fine  hotel, 

Owned  by  nobody  but  these  three, 
Mary,  Alex,  and  Isabel. 

They  've  laid  the  ground  floor  off  in  squares 
For  rooms  and  hallways  big  enough ; 

The  dogwood  limbs  are  winding  stairs 
Up  to  the  leaves,  which  are  the  roof. 

Down  near  the  ground  the  tree  sends  out 
A  fork,  and  thus  it  makes  the  door, 

Where  Alex  stands  or  struts  about, 
Both  porter  and  proprietor. 


43 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON   LAND 

Mary  is  cook  and  waitress  too, 

Isabel  she  keeps  the  house, 
And  all  three  take  their  turns  to  do 

The  milking  of.  the  Maypop  cows. 

This  is  to  be  a  summer  home 
For  folks  elsewhile  in  city  pent, 

And  I,  their  press  man,  beg  you  come. 
(The  weekly  rate  is  flat  one  cent.) 

Fear  not  lest  you  be  turned  outdoors. 

The  place  stands  good  for  any  boost. 
For,  if  no  ground  space  should  be  yours, 

They  '11  put  you  on  the  stairs  to  roost. 


44 


THE  TRICKSTER  TRICKED 

/^ong  ways  furrt  home  I  wus  huntin'  my  cow. 

She'd  done  en  los'  her  bell, 
En  which-a  way  she  wus  traveling  how 

Does  you  reckin  I  could  tell  ? 
Hongry  en  hot,  weak  en  tar'd, 

I  wus  'bout  to  turn  aroun', 
When  I  seed  ol'  Rattler  grabblin'  hard 

Atter  supp'n'  in  de  groun'. 

I  breaks  a  switch  en  twis'  it  'bout 

Down  dar,  en  den  I  pull 
Till  my  holt  break,  en  dat  switch  bring  out 

A  passle  er  'possum  wool! 
'T  wa'n't  many  minutes,  bless  yo'  life, 

'Fo'  I  felt  lak  anudder  man: 
I  wus  gwine  on  home  to  see  my  wife 

Wid  a  'possum  in  my  han'!  , 

45 


LYRICS  FROM  COTTON  LAND 

Knowin'  his  ways,  I  hilt  him  so 

He  couldn'  ketch  my  pants. 
He'd  not  take  long  to  do  his  do 

'F  I  gin  him  half  a  chance. 
'Twus  up  hill  den,  en  down  hill  now, 

Lak  a  man  wut's  bein'  paid — 
When  all  er  sudden  I  seed  my  cow 

Asleep  in  a  dog'ood  shade ! 

"Whoo-hee !"  I  hollered :  up  she  flounce, 

En  her  runnin'  wus  enough. 
Right  den  I,  too,  wus  on  de  bounce 

To  head  dat  heifer  off. 
Fergittin'  wut  wus  in  my  han', 

I  flop  him  'g'inst  my  shin. 
It  didn'  take  long  to  change  my  plan 

When  I  felt  dem  teef  sink  in. 

At  fust  I  tried  to  snatch  him  loose, 

But  one  jerk  made  me  quit; 
Dat  varmint  had  to  have  some  scuse 

46 


THE  TRICKSTER  TRICKED 


AT  FUST  I  TRIED  TO  SNATCH   HIM  LOOSE 


47 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

Befo'  he  gwine  a  spit. 
I  laid  down,  lak  I  'us  fallin'  sleep, 

Workin'  de  'possum  trick, 
But  smiles  wus  powerful  hard  to  keep,  7; 

'Ca'se  it  hurt  lak  a  thousan'  brick !      ' 

When  he  felt  his  tail  done  been  sot  free,. 

He  thought  'twus  time  to  go. 
I  reck'n  he  j edged  he  'us  foolin'  me, 

'Ca'se  he  open'  his  mouf  right  slow. 
He  started  off — but  we  wa'n't  gone  fur 

'Fo'  Rattler  counted  in, 
En  'doubt  no  cradle  or  nairy  a  song, 

Putt  him  to  sleep  ag'in. 

I  let  dat  cow  go  on  her  way, 

Runnin'  herse'f  a  race. 
You  kin  drive  yo'  cow  home  any  day, 

But  a  'possum's  meat  is  sca'ce. 
Oh,  I  sucked  his  bones  en  sopped  his  juice. 

Thinks  I,  "Now  wa'n't  dat  slick! 

4S 


THE  TRICKSTER  TRICKED 


Dis  possum  I's  et  didn'  have  no  scuse 
To  be  beat  at  his  own  ol'  trick." 


49 


BE  SHAME! 

Little  baby,  wut  you  see? 

If  you  knowed, 
You  could  n'  tell ;  you  never  is 

Done  more  'n  crowed. 

I  'd  be  shame',  I  would, 

To  look  so  wise, 
Bein'  solemn,  den  er-smilin' 

Wid  my  eyes. 

If  I  wus  you,  you  baby, 

I  'd  be  shame' 
To  look  at  supp'n'  wut  I  did  n' 

Know  its  name ! 


50 


A  DREAM  OF  YOU 

Into  my  fevered  brain, 

My  hot,  unhappy  blood, 
Like  showers  of  summer  rain 

Upon  a  thirsty  wood, 
Fair  as  the  first  far  cloud 

Adrift  in  April's  blue, 
There  came,  white  clad  and  beauty  browed, 

A  dream  of  you. 

A  heaven  song  sung  on  earth; 

A  vision  deserts  know, 
Mocking  their  weary  dearth, 

Of  glades  where  roses  blow. 
But  day-dawn  came  and  wept, 

A  wet  wind  wailed  and  blew. 
Would  I  had  never  waked ;  had  kept 

My  dream  of  you! 

5' 


LYRICS  FROM  COTTON  LAND 

'T  was  a  vandal-hearted  fate 

That  willed  that  I  should  see, 
Standing  without  the  gate, 

Life  as  life  could  be. 
'T  was  a  cruel  dawn  that  brought 

Tidings  so  falsely  true, 
That  the  heaven  that  smiled  was  only   a 
thought, 

A  dream  of  you. 


52 


ENVIRONMENT 

Or/  bull,  you  pawed  de  dus'  ontil 

It  settled  on  yo'  back. 
You  bellered  'cross  de  grassy  hill, 

En  yurlin's  cl'ared  yo'  track. 
You  hooked  de  clayroot  'ca'se  't  wus  red, 

En  you  could  n'  stan'  fer  dat. 
You  had  big  notions  in  yo'  head: 

'T  wus  spring,  en  you  wus  fat. 

But  now  yo'  back  's  bowed,  en  yo'  ha'r 

*S  er-standin'  up  on  een'. 
It 's  dead  grass,  dead  grass  ever'whar, 

But  not  a  tussick  green. 
You  disremembers  how  you  run 

When  I  went  atter  you, 
En  how  I  sweated  in  de  sun, 

En  how  you  sholy  flew. 

S3 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

Oh,  you  kin  stan'  behin'  dat  stack 

En  nibble  at  de  straw, 
But  d'  ain't  no  dus'  upon  yo'  back ; 

You  do'  know  how  to  paw. 
You  could  n'  beller  now,  ner  run ; 

You  's  glad  enough  to  stan'. 
'T  wus  grass  en  water  en  hot  sun 

Wut  made  you  sich  a  man. 


54 


'POSSUM  TIME  AGAIN 

Oh,  dip  some  'taters  down  in  grease 
En  fling  de  dogs  a  'tater  apiece. 
Ram  yo'  brogans  clean  er  tacks, 
Split  de  splinters  en  fetch  de  ax. 
It  's  'possum  time  again! 

Catfish  tender,  catfish  tough, 
We  's  done  et  catfish  long  enough. 
We  's  tar'd  er  collards  en  white-side  meat, 
En  we  's  gwine  have  supp'n'  wut  's  good  to  eat. 
It  's  'possum  time  again ! 

De  pot  's  gwine  simmer  en  blubber  en  bile 
Till  it  gits  scummed  over  wid  'possum  ile. 
But  le'  's  don't  brag  till  we  gits  de  goods. 
Whoop !  Come  along,  boys !  We  's  off  to  de  woods. 
It 's  'possum  time  again! 

55 


NOAH'S  ARK 

I  's  studied  all  'bout  No-y's  ark, 

Its  len'th  en  width  en  height ; 
I  's  laid  awake  en  studied 

En  dremp  er  it  at  night : 
En  how  dem  three  boys  wut  he  had 

Could  feed  up  all  dat  stock 
Beats  me,  'ca'se  six  mules  eats  enough 

Er  cawn  fer  me  to  shuck. 

Deir  women  mus'  'a'  holp  'em  some, 

'Twix*  scourin's  en  'tween  meals, 
Er  else  dem  mules  en  hogs  en  goats 

'U'd  been  as  lean  as  eels ; 
En  all  dem  bosses,  deers,  en  sheeps, 

En  ever'  cow  en  kef, 
En  all  de  geese  en  gawslin's  would 

'A'  perished  slam  to  def. 

56 


NOAH  S  ARK 

Den,  when  de  flood  dry  up  en  quit 

En  de  summer  drouf  come  on 
En  No-y  turnt  dem  cattle  out 

En  all  de  grass  wus  gone, 
How  come  dey  kep'  deirse'ves  alive? 

'Ca'se  all  dey  lak'd  to  eat 
Wus  drownded  fust,  en  den  't  wus  pahched 

Wid  overhettin'  heat. 

Dar  ain't  no  way,  at  dis  late  day, 

To  tell  how  many  died 
En  never  took  no  part  at  all 

When  de  yeth  wus  multiplied. 
If  all  de  beasties  in  dat  ark 

Had  'a'  come  out  safe  en  soun' 
Dar  'd  be  too  many  in  de  worl' 

Fer  de  grass  to  go  aroun'. 

Dem  animills  de  circus  brings 

Civers  all  forms  en  shapes 
Dat  any  man  kin  think  about, 

57 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON   LAND 

Zebus,  bucks,  en  apes ; 
But  dey  ain't  half  as  many  as 

Dar  prob'bly  mought  be  er  'm 
If  No-y  'd  had  as  much  good  hay 

As  he  had  water  fer  'm. 

But  I  turns  over  in  my  bed 

En  dreams  anudder  mess, 
En  wut  de  answer  to  it  is 

Dan'l  he  couldn'  guess : 
I  dreams  how  No-y  could  'a'  fed 

Dem  beasties  wut  won't  eat 
No  hay  ner  dough  ner  grass  ner  cawn 

Ner  anything  but  meat. 

Dar  wa'n't  but  seven  rabbits  dar : 

One  for  each  fox  wus  all. 
De  seven  frogs  mus'  look  out  whar 

Dem  seven  snakes  gwine  crawl. 
En  dat  ol'  rooster  en  his  hen 

Dey  had  to  tote  de  mail 

58 


NOAH S ARK 

When  seven  hongry  foxes  smelt 
De  sweetness  er  deir  trail. 

Yas,  bruddern,  I  can't  figger  why 

Marse  No-y's  tabby  cat 
Didn'  eat  up  all  de  birds  dar  wus 

Dis  side  er  Ararat; 
En,  if  dem  cages  wa'n't  right  strong, 

I  would  'a'  made  a  guess 
Dat,  'fo'  dey  landed,  one  big  b'ar 

Would  'a'  et  up  all  de  res'. 

Oh,  man,  dat  wus  a  roarin'  time ! 

It  wus  a  rowdy  house : 
Dem  hongry  lines  could  smell,  nex'  cage, 

'Possums  en  sheeps  en  cows; 
Dem  tigers  dey  could  smell  de  hens 

En  ducks  en  drakes  en  geese, 
En,  if  dey  growed  savygus,  dat 

Wus  natchel  fer  a  beas'. 

59 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

You  chillun,  hongry  as  you  is 

Fer  dis  here  picnic  dinner, 
'Long  side  er  dem  'ar  wolves,  'u'd  be 

Jis'  a  bran  new  beginner ; 
You  had  yo'  brekkus,  but  dem  wolves, 

Wut  No-y  's  boun'  to  hyur, 
Wus  howlin',  'ca'se  dey  hadn'  had 

Nothin'  in  half  a  yur. 

En  den  dem  varmints  wut  wus  clean 

Had  seven  fer  ever'  rout : 
One  male  er  one  shemale,  fer  sho, 

Wus  boun'  to  be  lef  out. 
En  when  dey  come  to  makin'  love 

Dar  mus'  'a'  been  some  hate, 
'Ca'se  ever'  time  dey  counted  off 

One  didn'  have  no  mate. 

En,  finely,  bruddern,  't  wa'n't  so  bad 

Dat  dey  wus  in  de  dark 
(Dar  wa'n't  but  one  liT  winder,  chile, 

60 


NOAH  S  ARK 

In  all  dat  gre't  big  ark) 
So  when  dey  fell  to  fightin',  dey 

Could  n'  tell  which  way  to  go ; 
Dey  had  to  sniff  en  listen  good 

En  move  oncommon  slow. 

En  when  I  studies  'bout  dem  days 

En  thinks  upon  dat  flood, 
I 's  happy,  seem'  a  rainbow, 

As  a  cow  wut  chaws  her  cud. 
En  if  I  *d  been  Marse  No-y, 

En  mought  'a'  had  my  wish, 
I  'd  'a'  dove  f um  out  dat  winder 

En  swum  off  wid  de  fish. 


6i 


A  MONOLOGUE 

De  'possum  up  de  tree 

He  sot  en  look'  at  me, 
En  when  I  got  de  moon  'twix'  me  en  him, 

Says  I  to  him,  "So,  so! 

Oh,  I  's  comin'  up,  you  know, 
En  I 's  gwine  a  yank  you  loose  fum  dat  'ar  limb !" 

Says  I,  "Don't  putt  on  airs. 

You  better  say  yo*  prayers. 
De  preacher  's  gwine  be  wid  me  Saddy  night, 

En  he  's  glad  to  eat  a  'possum 

As  a  gal  to  git  a  blossom, 
En  his  mouf  is  big  en,  gosh !  his  teef  is  white!" 


62 


DE  THREE  FROSTIES 

De  fus'  fros'  browns  de  simmons, 
En  gits  de  cur  dogs  fat, 

En  purples  up  de  simmon  leaves 
To  show  whar  dey  is  at. 

De  nex'  fros'  gits  de  'possum 

Big  en  fit  to  eat : 
It  fills  his  hide  wid  simmon  juice 

En  greases  up  his  meat. 

But 't  ain't  until  de  third  fros' 
De  nigger  'gins  to  roam, 

En  takes  his  torch  en  cur  en  ax 
En  fetch  dat  'possum  home. 

63 


PUNISHMENT 

I  laks  to  go  to  coht  en  see 
Dem  lawyers  scrappin'  all  fer  me. 
Dat  big  jedge,  wid  de  preacher  look, 
Readin'  in  dat-ar  yaller  book, 
Dem  twelve  big  juries,  listenin'  close 
To  how  I  broke  ol'  Davy's  nose, 
En  all  dese  people  wut  you  see, 
Dey  's  all  in  here  beca'se  er  me. 

If  I  gits  out,  de  gals  is  mine; 
Dey  laks  a  man  kin  cut  a  shine. 
If  I  gits  in,  dey  '11  feed  me  free, 
En  keep  me  warm,  en  let  me  be 
As  fat  en  lazy  as  I  kin. 
I  kinder  hope  dey  '11  putt  me  in. 


64 


OBEDIENCE 

Min'  yo'  ol'  mammy,  chilluns, 

Smokin'  in  de  do'! 
Don't  be  mean,  now,  since  she  can't 

Outrun  you  any  mo'. 


65 


WEATHER  SIGNALS 

When  I  want  to  know  if  it 's  gwine  a  snow, 

I  calls  my  Sambo  in. 
If  he  's  kinder  scaly  'bout  de  legs 

En  ashy  on  his  chin, 
If  his  hide  bees  rough  lak  redoak  bark, 

Checked  off  'n  a  reg'lar  row, 
Sometime  'twix'  dat  en  de  fall  er  dark 

Dar  's  gwine  a  spit  some  snow. 


66 


UTOPIA 

When  I  gits  rich  I  means  to  use 
Whar  de  mule  he  hatter  have  some  scuse 
Fer  Iookin'  sad ;  whar  de  tomcat  own 
Dese  hot  still  nights  a  megaphone; 
Whar  de  billygoat,  whuruver  he  goes, 
Totes  a  hanksher  fer  to  blow  his  nose ; 
Whar  de  fice  gits  paid  a  ration  er  meat 
Fer  ketchin'  things  wut  he  won't  eat ; 
En  whar,  when  a  man  make'  up  to  a  gal, 
She  kin  take  her  ch'ice  er  go  to  jail. 


67 


THE  RACCOON 

If  wut  you  want  is  a'  easy  snap, 

A  'coon  can't  he'p  you  none, 
Less'n  you  ketch  him  in  a  trap 

Er  kill  him  wid  yo'  gun. 
All  he  needs  is  a  fightin'  chance, 
En  he  '11  make  you  pray  fer  leather  pants 
En  '11  lead  yo'  cur-dog  sich  a  dance 

Dat  he  's  glad  when  he  gits  done. 

He  's  little,  but,  Lawd !  he  got  de  san\ 

When  you  is  laid  him  out, 
You  needs  a  stick  to  he'p  you  stan', 

'Ca'se  yo'  head  bees  whirlin'  'bout. 
Oh,  his  fur  is  warm  en  his  tas'e  is  sweet, 
But  he  makes  you  pay  fer  his  hide  en  meat ; 
Whar  he  bites  wid  's  mouf  er  claws  wid  's  feet 

Yo'  blood  is  gwine  a  spout. 

6S 


THE   RACCOON 


YO'  HEAD  BEES  WHIRLIN'  'BOUT 


'     >DnTrn<  » 


69 


THE  CROW'S  SHADOW 

The  crow  flew  high  through  the  summer  sky, 

But  a  mute  and  tireless  hound, 
O'er  the  meadow-sweeps  and  up  the  steeps, 

His  shadow,  skimmed  the  ground. 

However  so  high  he  climbed  in  the  sky, 

O'er  river  and  wood  and  town, 
That  shade  that  crept  where  the  wide  earth  slept 

Followed  and  drew  him  down. 

Like  a  deathless  hate  or  a  pitiless  fate, 

Like  the  love  of  Moab's  Ruth, 
Or  the  smouldering  fire  of  an  old  desire, 

Or  the  sin  of  a  reckless  youth, 


70 


THE    CROW  S    SHADOW 

Wherever  he  went  till  his  life  was  spent, 

In  cloud  or  in  forest  dim, 
It  chased  where  he  led.  and  where  he  fell  dead 

It  was  waiting  to  die  with  him. 


71 


IN  A  CANOE 

The  curious  current  wanders  wide 
Its  guardian  swamps  from  side  to  side 
And  mirrors  dimly  in  its  tide 

The  leafless  arch, 
Through  which,  with  herald  trumpet,  stride 

The  winds  of  March. 

When,  'twixt-whiles,  they  forego  their  stress, 
There  falls  a  vasty  loneliness, 
Such  as  some  city  might  impress 

On  pilgrim  hearts, 
Where  a  gray  hush  holds  in  duress 

Deserted  marts. 


7* 


IN  A  CANOE 

Then,  lo,  a  feathery  tinge  of  green 
About  yon  willow,  faintly  seen; 
And,  where  those  gnarly  maples  lean, 

Lo,  lightly  spread, 
Spring's  gossamer,  a  woven  sheen 

Of  passionate  red! 

And  yonder,  those  bare  limbs  among, 
Red  as  the  rose  that  blooms  ere  long, 
The  cardinal  sits,  his  bird-heart  strong 

With  joy  refound, 
Himself  a  blaze  of  light,  his  song 

A  blaze  of  sound. 

Now,  when  the  winds  once  more  take  wing, 
The  great  trees  shout  and  groan  and  swing 
The  reedy  brakes  go  whispering 

Of  seasons  fair, 
And  in  my  heart  the  thrill  of  spring 

Where  dead  thoughts  were, 

73 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

Till  wind  and  rippling  stream  and  bird 
Sing  to  my  pulse  in  monochord, 
And  all  their  song  is  one  wild  word : 

"New!  new!"— 
New  hope,  fresh  purpose,  dreams  new-stirred, 

And  skies  all  blue ! 


74 


NAMING  THE  ANIMALS 

When  Adam  wus  namin'  de  beasties  en  birds, 

De  insexes,  fishes,  en  snakes, 
Dey  come  along  pas'  him  in  droves  en  in  herds, 
En   it   took   turble   thinkin'   to   think    up    dem 
words — 

Mules,  elephants,  yethworms,  en  drakes. 

How  you  reckin  he  come  to  say  lizzud,  en  fox, 

En  tarpin,  en  buzzud,  en  bee, 
En  hoss,  en  bull-sparrow,  en  cuckroach,  en  ox, 
En  'possums,  en  coons,  en  chickens,  en  hawks, 

En  tiger,  en  catbird,  en  flea? 

He  didn'  have  time  den  to  study  en  spit ; 

He  had  to  keep  'long  wid  de  game. 
He  had  to  putt  up  wid  de  bes'  he  could  git. 
Wutuver  wus  passin'  he  had  to  name  it 

Right  dar  in  its  tracks  wid  a  name. 

75 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON   LAND 

Jxs'  mule  don't  mean  nothin',  ner  jackdaw  ner 
mink 

Ner  moccasin,  rabbit,  ner  dog ; 
En  him  en  Miss  Eve  didn'  have  time  to  think, 
En  dey  didn'  have  time  den  to  eat  er  to  drink 

Er  even  set  down  on  a  log. 

But  dey  done  purty  well.    You  try  it  en  see. 

It  's  hahd  to  name  even  a  blossom. 
Yit  wut  could  you  call  a  bee  but  a  bee  ? 
'N'  if  you  sees  a  'possum  way  up  in  a  tree, 

You  can't  think  er  nothin'  but  'possum. 


76 


THE  RED  SHIRTS* 

I  laks  red  watermillions  wut  's  juices'  when  dey 

's  red, 
I  laks  red  hankshers,  washin'  days,  aroun'  my 

ooman's  head, 
I  laks  to  shuck  de  red  yur,  en  red  lemonade  goes 

good, 
De  Lawd  he  sot  gre't  sto'  by  red  in  fillin'  me  wid 

blood ; 
But  when  I  sees  a  red  shirt,  folks,  right  den  is 

when  I  hushes 
En  reaches  up  en  gits  my  hat  en  totes  it  to  de 

bushes. 

En  dat  's  de  way  it  alius  is :  de  coon  he  travels 
roun' 


♦Disfranchisement  in  North  Carolina,  1898. 

77 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

En  gits  a  drink  to  he'p  'im  up,  but  de  drink  it 

th'ows  'im  down ; 
He  gits  a  wife  to  do  de  work  about  his  little  f ahm, 
But  she  's  so  triflin'  in  her  ways  she  natchly  doos 

him  hahm; 
En  'ca'se  de  nigger  laks  red  things — even  red  ile 

in  his  lamp — 
De  white  man  gits  a  red  shirt  fer  to  make  him 

quit  de  camp. 


78 


Coreopsis  Lanxeolata. 

Compositae  (Composite  Family). 

Wild  Coreopsis.     Tickseed. 


POOR  OLD  BEN 

Light  my  pipe  en  lemme  smoke 
Nigh  de  far  er  pine  en  oak. 

I 's  so  ol'  en  po'ly. 
Chillun,  I  is  seed  a  heap; 
It  's  'bout  time  I  gwine  to  sleep, 

'Ca'se  I  needs  it,  sholy. 

Dis  ol'  nigger  's  done  his  shur. 
He  done  shuck'  his  las'  red  yur, 

Weighed  up  his  las'  cotton. 
Now  he  's  bit  wid  rheumatiz; 
When  he  walks  you  sees  he  is 

Hamstrung  en  hip-shotten. 


79 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

Stick  a  shingle  at  his  head. 
Write  on  it  dat  Ben  is  dead, 

Den,  in  hot  er  col'  times, 
Mistis  see  it,  en  she  say, 
'To'  ol'  Ben!"— j is'  dat  a- way, 

Thinkin'  er  de  ol'  times. 


FOR  CORN  SHUCKINGS 

Oh,  come  along,  come  along,  Mandy  gal ! 

I  's  a  gwine  off  many  a  mile. 
Did  a  rainbow  ever  do  you  wrong? 

Did  a  catfish  ever  smile? 

It  snowed  all  night  dat  hot  June  day, 

En  I  says  to  my  gal,  say  I, 
"Oh,  gal,"  says  I,  en  I  says,  "Oh,  gal," 

En  den  I  pass  on  by. 

De  apple  tree  bloom  in  de  winter  time, 
En  de  leaves  shed  in  de  spring, 

En  all  I  wants  is  a  little  rhyme 
To  go  wid  my  banjer  string. 


81 


ONE  DAY 

Silent  and  high  a  gray  hawk  wheeled. 
Noise  of  the  city,  song  of  the  field 
Mingled  and  mellowed  their  music  in  one. 
Low  in  the  zodiac  circled  the  sun. 

Over  the  valleys  the  morning  was  fair,   : 
Keen  with  the  tingle  of  frost  in  the  air ; 
Over  the  mountains  a  dim  mist  hung, 
Veiling  the  slow  hills,  rung  by  rung. 

Faint  was  the  laughter  of  children  at  play ; 
Bells  in  the  meadow  seemed  far,  far  away ; 
Happy  the  voices  of  maidens  that  met : 
Oh,  't  was  a  season  to  hope  and  forget ! 


82 


ONE  DAY 

I  had  not  changed,  if  I  had  been  God, 
One  shrouded  mountain,  one  goldenrod, 
Where,  in  his  halcyon  garment,  gold-spun, 
Low  through  the  zodiac  circled  the  sun. 


S3 


A  HINDRANCE 

You  need  n'  do  nothin'  but  roll  in  de  dirt. 

I  '11  give  you  yo'  eatin'  en  give  you  yo'  shirt. 

I  don't  speck  yo'  he'p  when  I  's  hoein'  our  farm. 

You  kin  do  wut  you  please,  if  you  '11  quit  doin' 
harm. 

Why  'n't  you  sleep  in  de  shade  at  de  eend  er  de 
row? 

I  'd  as  well  go  on  home  en  hang  up  my  hoe, 

If  you  's  gwine  a  scramble  en  crawl  on  de  groun' 

En  roll  on  de  cotton  en  mash  it  all  down. 

Stay  whar  I  putt  you !     Don't  foller  my  trail ! 

You  mus'  'pen'  on  dis  crap  fer  yo'  winter  shirt- 
tail. 

If  it  's  me  dat  mus'  feed  you  en  give  you  yo' 
clothes, 

You  mus'  stay  whar  I  tells  you  en  play  wid  yo' 
toes. 

84 


A    HINDRANCE 


"  STAY  WHAR  I  TELLS  VOU,  EN  PLAY  WID  YO'  TOES  " 


B5 


A  PALLET  SLEEPER 

I  wish  a  man  had  a  turnin'  bed, 

'Ca'se  he  roasties  his  feet  en  freezes  his  head. 

When  he  gits  all  wrop'  up  in  his  civer 

He  can't  turn  roun'  en  he  won't  turn  over. 

Dat  big  far  keep  on  gwine  all  night 
(You  kin  tell  dat  fum  de  chinks  bein'  bright) 
En  de  heat  fum  de  far  en  de  win'  fum  de  hole 
Keeps  one  een'  hot  en  de  udder  een'  col'. 


86 


SUBSTITUTES 

We  ain't  gwine  have  no  turkey 

Less'n  we  kills  him  wil', 
But  we  '11  have  a  pot  er  cooter  soup 

Scum'  over  wid  cooter  ile. 

We  ain't  gwine  have  no  poun'  cake 
When  dat  Chris'mas  dinner  come, 

But  '11  eat  dat  cracklin'  bread  all  up 
En  hunt  anudder  crumb. 

We  mought  not  have  no  liquor 
To  make  us  dance  aroun', 

But  'simmon  beer  goes  purty  good 
Atter  it  settles  down. 


87 


LYRICS   FROM    COTTON   LAND 

In  case  we  don't  have  powder, 
We  won't  give  up  our  fun: 

We  '11  slam  a  plank  ag'in'  de  groun' 
Loud  as  a  Chris'mas  gun. 

We  all  won't  go  er-huntin'. 

We  '11  save  our  shot  en  caps, 
En  'pen'  fer  all  de  birds  we  gits 

Upon  our  peckridge  traps. 

We  got  no  hoss  to  travel  wid, 
But  we  got  a  kyart  en  bull, 

En  dat  's  enough,  Gord  bless  yo'  soul, 
Fer  all  we  haves  to  pull. 

Oh,  folks  is  fools  to  cry  en  cuss, 
'Ca'se  deir  ves'  ain't  red  en  blue ! 

If  you  ain't  got  de  spohtin'  goods, 
De  homespun  goods  '11  do. 


88 


BEDTIME 

A  peddler  travelin'  late  wus  cotch 

Out  in  a  turble  rain 
Wut  sont  him  runnin'  to  a  house 

Up  a  long  straggly  lane. 
He  did  n'  know  dat  house  wus  whar 

Somebody  'd  kilt  a  man ; 
He  did  n'  'spicion  ha'nts  in  dar. 

Oh,  my!    Oh,  my  Ian'! 

He  laid  down  on  dat  shanty  flo', 

Er-listenin'  at  de  rain, 
But  purty  soon  he  hyeard  supp'n'  else, 

But  he  did  n'  hear  it  plain. 
En  den  it  sounded  louder,  so 

He  's  boun'  to  onnerstan' 
A  ghos'  wus  edgin'  up  on  him, 

Oh,  my!    Oh,  my  Ian'! 

89 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

Don't  you  be  feared  to  go  to  sleep. 

Now,  honey,  be  a  man! 
Dat  's  right,  den — civer  up  yo'  head. 

But,  my !    Oh,  my  Ian' ! 

He  laid  dar,  listenin'  all  he  could 

En  nigh  'bout  scared  to  def . 
Dat  ha'nt  crope  up,  en  crope  so  close 

Dat  he  could  feel  its  bref . 
En  den  he  felt  supp'n'  reachin'  roun' 

Lak  a  graveyardy  han' ; 
Dat  peddler  could  n'  speak  er  move. 

Oh,  my !    Oh,  my  Ian' ! 

Now,  honey,  run  en  hop  in  bed. 

I  ain't  gwine  tell  no  mo' 
Wut  happen  to  dat  lonesome  man 

Er-shiverin'  on  dat  flo'. 


90 


THE  PERSIMMON  TREE 

De  limmon  tree  is  de  only  tree 
*T  ain't  cut  when  de  woods  is  cl'ar'd. 

It  "s  de  only  shade  in  de  cotton  patch 
Fer  a  man  wut  's  hot  en  tar'd. 

It  *s  de  only  tree  wut  make  a  man 

As  good  as  a  yaller  cur ; 
Fer  a  man  kin  slip  aroun'  at  night 

Fum  one  tree  to  an'er, 

En  treckly  th'ow  his  eye  up  one 

En  look  up  it  a  minute, 
En  way  up  hyander,  'twix'  de  moon, 

He  see  a  possum  in  it. 


91 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

It  's  de  place  to  lay  yo'  chillun  at 
So  dey  won't  keep  a-cryin' ; 

It  's  de  place  to  spread  yo'  cotton  sheet 
To  save  de  dew  fum  dryin'. 


De  cider  piggin  sets  dar  cool, 
Wid  yaller  bubbles  crusted, 

En  de  dog-day  watermillion  know 
Dat  's  whar  it  gwine  be  busted. 

De  sheep  scratch  off  his  wool  on  it, 
En  de  sow  chafe  off  her  mud, 

En,  dinnertime,  de  cows  comes  dar 
To  lay  en  chaw  deir  cud. 

If  't  wa'n't  fer  it  you  could  n'  git 

No  simmon  beer  to  drink, 
Ner  fin'  no  simmon  wut  you  eats 

When  its  sweet  hide  'gins  to  swink ; 

92 


THE  PERSIMMON   TREE 

Acorns  'u'd  be  de  shoat's  bes'  chance; 

De  cur  'd  be  skin  en  bones; 
En  de  fiel's  'u'd  be  as  b'ilin'  hot 

As  dem  dar  horrid  zones. 


How  come  dey  leaves  it  on  de  fahm 

Amongs'  de  cawn  en  sich, 
It  natchly  don't  eat  up  de  Ian' 

But  makes  it  sandbed  rich. 

En  atter  it  bees  dead  en  gone 
En  all  de  stump  done  rotten, 

Right  dar  you  '11  fin'  de  heavy  cawn 
En  de  thickes'-fruited  cotton. 

So  when  yo'  furrow  take  you  pas' 
A  simmon  somewhar  down  it, 

Nemmine  if  you  does  leave  some  grass, 
You  swing  yo'  plow  clean  roun'  it. 

93 


"BELIEVING  WHERE  WE  CANNOT 
PROVE" 

Among  the  earliest  memories  that  linger  in  my 

heart 
Is  one  of  old  Aunt  Phibby  Ann,  who  drew  me  far 

apart 
And  told  me,  so  mysteriously  I  thought  I  must 

have  sinned, 
That,  though  it  ain't  ingenly  known,  a  sow  can 

see  the  wind. 

The  wind  is  mostly  blue,  she  said,  but  sometimes 

green  or  red, 
And  that  is  how  a  sow  can  tell  the  weather  on 

ahead. 
But  a  mist  has  always  dimmed  my  thought — a 

mist  that  never  thinned — 
It  being  how  old  Aunt  Phibby  knew  a  sow  can 

see  the  wind. 

94 


CONVENIENT  THEOLOGY 

I  allus  has  a  feelin', 

When  I  hears  a  fiddle  squealin* 

En  a  banjer-picker  pickin'  off  de  time, 
If  de  chu'ch  do  stan'  ag'in'  it, 
Dat  dar  ain't  much  danger  in  it, 

En  dat  cloggin*  ain't  no  sich  a  turble  crime. 

When  de  gals'  heels  gits  to  tappin* 
En  de  coons  gits  down  to  clappin', 

Den's  when  I  clogs  beca'se— oh,  'ca'se  I  must ! 
Till  de  tin  pans  gits  to  shakin' 
En  de  flo'  boa'ds  gits  to  quakin* 

En  de  far  look  dim  to  see  it  thoo  de  dust. 


95 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

De  Lawd  he  laks  good  niggers, 

Whahfo',  here  is  how  I  figgers : 
I  knows  de  Lawd  '11  do  wutever  's  good ; 

He  made  me,  heel  to  noggin ; 

If  dar  wus  much  hahm  in  cloggin' 
He  never  would  'a'  putt  it  in  my  blood. 


96 


BABY'S  NOGGIN 

It  do  look  lak  we  'd  all  be  dead 

When  you  feels  de  top  er  a  baby's  head. 

De  sides  'r  'is  noggin  don't  come  nigh  meetin', 

En  way  up  dar  his  pulse  is  beatin'. 

Jis'  s'pose  supp'n'  shahp  'u'd  fall  on  dar: 
It  'u'd  be  jis'  lak  thone  water  on  far. 
Er  s'pose  supp'n'  heavy  'u'd  drap  on  his  head : 
You  could  n'  say  Scat  'fo'  he  'd  be  dead. 

His  noggin  's  jis'  bones,  but  his  brains  dey  grows, 
En  I  wants  to  ax  if  you  all  knows 
Why  de  brains,  since  dey  got  de  runnih'  start, 
Don't  prize  dat  openin'  f udder  apart  ? 


97 


BLACK  MOLASSES 

Cawn  bread  en  black  molasses 

Is  better  dan  honey  en  hash 

Fer  de  fahm-han'  coon 
En  de  light  quadroon, 

Along  wid  de  po'  white  trash. 

You  pours  it  out  fum  de  jug,  lak  dis ; 
You  sops  it  up  fum  de  pan. 

En  it  bees  so  good 

It  he'ps  yo'  blood 
2n  makes  you  much  of  a  man. 

It 's  better  wid  cooter  gravy, 
En  buttermilk  he'ps  it  some, 

En  a  piece  er  catfish 

On  de  side  er  de  dish 
Feels  good  'twix'  yo'  finger  en  thumb. 

93 


BLACK  MOLASSES 

But  jis'  de  bread  en  de  'lasses, 
Widout  any  doin'  en  dash, 

Is  enough  fer  de  coon 
En  de  light  quadroon. 
En  enough  fer  de  po'  white  trash. 


99 


OLD  AUNT  PLEASANT 

Long  time  'fo'  you  wus  bawn 

My  mistis  wus  yo'  ma. 
En  now  you  's  grown  en  gone, 

En  I  mus'  call  you  "sah." 

Wut'sdat?    Jis' call  you  "honey?" 
Huh !  you  's  got  rich  so  fas', 

Wid  Ian'  en  stock  en  money, 
Dat  name  'u'd  soun'  lak  sass. 

Nemmin',  I  holp  yo'  ma,  chile, 

To  fix  en  primp  en  dress, 
En  it  nuver  took  me  no  long  while 

To  make  her  look  her  bes\ 


ibo 


OLD  AUNT  PLEASANT 

Den  I  'd  stan'  at  de  winder  pane, 

A-lookin'  out  en  hummin' ; 
En  mistis  say,  "Kin  you  see  de  lane? 

Pleasant,  ain't  he  comin'  ?" 

She  meant  yo'  pa.    'T  wa'n't  nuver  long 

Till  'e  rid  up,  flashin'  fine, 
En  den  't  'u'd  'a'  made  you  sing  a  song 

To  'a'  seed  yo'  ma's  eyes  shine. 

I  holp  her  on  her  weddin'  night 

Put  on  her  weddin'  clothes ; 
Fum  head  to  heel  dem  clothes  wus  white, 

P>ut  her  cheek  was  lak  a  rose. 

I  jis'  do'  know  how  long  it  's  been. 

Wut,  guess  ?    I  do'  know  how.  * 

But  I  knows  dat  my  young  mistis  den 

Is  my  ol'  mistis  now. 

roi 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

Law  bless  de  chile !    Dat  's  lak  ol'  times ! 

Ho  much  is  dis  here  money  ? 
Dis  here  's  a  half  a  pint  er  dimes. 

Now  1 1  will  call  you  honey  1 


102 


THE  CROWN  OF  POWER 

De  rooster  's  crowed,  de  big  bell  's  rung. 

Git  outen  de  bed,  ol'  lady ! 
Roll  outen  de  bed,  en  hoi'  yo'  tongue, 
En  fry  dat  white-side  wut  I  brung, 

En  git  my  brekkus  ready. 

Bill,  git  up  f um  yo'  pallet  dar ! 

Stick  yo'  leg  into  yo'  britches, 
En  when  you  is  kandled  up  a  far, 
Go  grub  till  brekkus  hyander  whar 

De  briers  is  took  de  ditches. 

Sal,  you  is  triflin*  fit  to  kill, 

En  foolish  as  a  sheep. 
Go  fetch  some  light'ood  fum  de  hill. 
Now,  all  you  little  coons  keep  still 

En  lemme  ketch  some  sleep. 

103 


THE  REJECTED  SCOTSMAN, 

I.    REJECTED 

Hoot  !    Ye  say  ye  winna  hae  me,  woman  ? 

A  Hielandman,  right  frae  the  banks  o'  Lomon' ! 

Sayin'  I  'm  rough,  that  hair  shocks  oot  my  ears, 

That  hair  hings  o'er  my  een,  my  hands  jist  bear's, 

Hairy,  hairy  a',  lak  the  fiend,  an'  rough. 

Haud,  woman !    Say  na  mair,  haein'  said  enough. 

Lang  hae  I  looked  across  the  starmy  sea, 
Thinkin'  Amariky  was  ca'in'  me, 
O'  a'  her  w'alth  an'  how  her  lassies  dear 
Had  lairdly  acres,  herds,  an'  mickle  gear, 
An'  how  sae  kind  they  wair,  sae  finely  weeded, 
An'  how  a  Hielandman  was  a'  they  needed. 


104 


THE  REJECTED   SCOTSMAN 

Woman,  ye  ken  na  what  I  am. 
Nae  sark-tailed  shepherd  wi'  'is  yowe  an'  ram : 
Frae  an  auld  stock  I  spring  that  spilt  mair  blocd 
Than  coursed  your  daddies'  veins  since  No-y's 

flood. 
Ye  need  na  turn,  an'  shake,  an'  dry  your  ee : 
Na  woman  will  I  hae  winna  hae  me! 

2.    TOLD  ON 

The  hizzy  might  hae  kep'  it  tae  hersel'. 
Sae  prood  she  was  she  could  na  hellup  but  tell ; 
An'  now  frae  her  big  braggin'  comes  to  pass 
T  is  kenned  by  effery  ither  village  lass, 
Wha,  when  they  see  me  comin',  squeak  an'  say, 

"I  want  na  man  wham  ithers  wadna  hae!" 
Weel,  gang  your  ways,  ye  little  gigglin'  sillies, 
An'  wed,  God  rest  ye,  wi'  your  ain  town  billies 
(Pale  little  lads,  wham  I  could  mak'  tae  mind  me 
An'  whip  them  a'  wi'  one  hand  tied  behind  me), 
An'  brag  tae  them  abou'  the  honest  man, 

105 


LYRICS  tROM  COTTON  LAND 

Frae  wham,  for  their  slim  sakes,  ye  squeaked  an' 
ran. 

Tauld  it,  yiss !  an'  may  a'  ill  befa'  me 

If  "h'isted  Scotsman"  isna  what  they  ca'  me! 

I  '11  hae  it  on  them :  in  my  ain  countrie 

Ilk  lass  wad  die  tae  gang  tae  kirk  wi'  me ; 

An'  there  I  'II  wed   some   chieftain's  sprightly 

daughter — 
If  this  deil's-gossip  comes  na  o'er  the  water ! 


3.   COALS  OF  FIRE 

Whist,  Peggy,  woman !    Pass  these  houses  here 
Bonny  an'  prood  an'  spry,  wi'  mickle  cheer ; 
Look  at  me  sae,  an'  smile  intil  my  face — 
Look  lovin',  if  it  be  God  gies  ye  grace ; 
Nar  fear  I  wad  your  winsome  passion  check 
If  ye  sho'd  hing  your  airms  abou'  my  neck ! 

106 


THE  REJECTED   SCOTSMAN 

{Aside) 
Now  let  the  hizzies  peep  as  we  gang  by, 

An'  deil  a  cheek  amang  them  will  be  dry! 
I  '11  spraid  mysel'  an'  step  wi'  lairdly  gait, 
Stare  cauld  on  Peggy,  my  unwarthy  mate ; 
I  "11  vvark  my  shaulders  an  bulge  oot  my  chist, 
That  they  may  rue  the  braw  man  they  hae  misst. 

If  ony  o'  them  mark  us,  or  their  mithers, 
'T  winna  be  lang  in  gaein'  tae  the  ithers — 
How  that  the  "h'isted  Scotsman"  in  his  pride 
Gaed  past  them  wi'  his  ain  rid-headed  bride, 
Which  canna  hellup  but  burn  them  tae  the  bane 
(Na  kennin'  Peg  's  a  sister  o'  my  ain). 

4.   ONE  SIDE  OF  IT 

It  gars  me  greet  how  women  a'  must  wait 
Until  a  man  comes  knockin'  at  their  gate. 
Their  lives  must  be  sae  mirky  wi'  regret 
For  the  braw  men  they  lo'ed  but  could  na  get. 

107 


LYRICS   FROM.  COTTON   LAND 

It  is  na  fair  tae  mak'  them  haud  their  voice 
An'  never  hae  the  dares  tae  name  their  choice. 

Ye  askit,  did  ye,  why  I  never  wed  ?    •    . 
I  was  na  fool  enough  tae  lose  my  head. 
Ah,,  lad,  on  baith  sides  o'  the  starmy  sea 
There  hae  been  lassies  pined  an'  died  for  me — > 
Bonny  sweet  lassies  ither  men  fought  o'er 
An'  fared  nae  better  after  than  before. 

Yiss,  there  be  women,  auld  an'  warn  an'  gray, 
Wha  wanted  me,  but  could  na  tell  me  sae, 
'T  is  weel,  nae  doot ;  for  it  had  been  unkind 
Tae  tell  them  that  they  did  na  suit  my  mind. 
Nae  Hielandman,  bred  on  the  braes  o'  Lomon', 
Wad  be  sae  beastly  tae  a  gentlewoman. 


108 


A  SOFT  SNAP 

I  's  tar'd  er  work,  I  is, 
En  I  's  gwine  a  shirk  my  biz. 

I  's  a  yaller  coon, 

En  late  en  soon 
I  's  gwine  a  rest,  I  is. 

I  's  gwine  a  teach  a  while ; 

En  den  I  '11  preach  a  while: 
It  's  easy  teachin' 
En  easy  preachin', 

En  I 's  gwine  a  gi'  'm  a  trile. 


109 


AMBITION 

I  ain't  decided  what  I  '11  be. 

It  's  sortie  hard  to  tell. 
Sometimes  I  think  I  '11  go  to  sea 

An'  try  the  sea  a  spell. 
Sometimes  I  think  I  '11  take  an'  try 

My  chances  on  the  Ian'. 
But  anyhow  I  aim  to  be 

A  mighty  turble  man. 

No ;  Susie  would  n'  kiss  me 

When  we  played  the  game  o  pawn. 
An'  Billy  laughed  at  my  bow  legs 

An'  ast  to  try  'em  on. 
An'  Jim  sayed  I  was  sunburnt 

Jis'  like  a  Croatan. 
They  '11  hate  this  when  I  git  to  be 

A  mighty  turble  man. 

no 


AMBITION 

They  'li  come  into  my  palace. 

I  '11  be  dressed  up  in  silk. 
They  '11  say,  We  're  pore  an'  hungry,  sir, 

An'  want  some  buttermilk. 
I  '11  give  'em  wine  an'  honey, 

An'  then  I  '11  rise  an'  stan' 
An'  say,  'T  was  me  you  th'owed  off  on — 

A  mighty  turble  man! 

They  '11  whimper  then,  you  bet  they  will, 

An'  wish  that  they  was  dead. 
An'  when  they  git  down  on  their  knees, 

Lak  kneelin'  at  yore  bed, 
An'  beg  me  not  to  kill  'em,  then 

I  '11  ketch  'em  by  the  han' 
An'  say,  Don't  ever  laugh  no  more 

At  a  sunburnt,  bow-leg  man ! 


Ill 


THE  SIESTA 

I  tells  'em  to  please 

Bile  a  dinner  er  pease 
En  set  me  a  table  out  under  de  trees, 

Den  lemme  be  fed 

Wid  a  pone  er  corn  bread 
En  ingerns ;  den  lemme  lay  down  on  a  bed. 

Oh,  de  skeeter  kin  sting 

En  de  dirt-dauber  sing, 
De  housefly  kin  tickle  my  yur  wid  'is  whing ; 

De  chillun  kin  bawl, 

De  cuckroach  kin  crawl 
Up  my  britches,  en   ganders  en  peafowls  kin 
squall ; 


112 


THE  SIESTA 

Oh,  the  dishes  kin  break 

En  de  shetters  kin  shake 
But  all  kin  er  fusses  can't  keep  me  awake, 

'Ca'se  it  takes  more  'n  dese 

T'  onsettle  my  ease, 
When  I's  et  a  good  dinner  er  corn-pone  en  peas. 


"3 


THE  DIEDIPER 

De  diediper  swum  on  de  millpon', 
En  de  nigger  crope  roun'  de  dam, 

En  cock  his  gun  en  took  good  aim 
En  pull  de  trigger,  blam ! 

But  'fo'  de  bullets  got  dar 
De  diediper  done  dove  down. 

He  dove,  en  dove,  en  den  pop  up 
En  'gin  to  floatin'  roun'. 

De  nigger  crope  thoo  bushes 

Till  he  got  anudder  trile. 
De  diediper  dove,  en  dove,  en  dove, 

But  he  pop  up  atter  while. 


114 


THE  DIEDIPER 

So  he  shot  his  caps  en  powder 
En  his  ramrod,  too,  away, 

But  de  diediper  floats  upon  dat  pon' 
En  swims  right  dar  to-day. 


"5 


SNAKES 

De  whup-snake  drags  a  platted  tail. 
He  runs  as  straight  as  a  railroad  rail. 

He  got  no  voice,  but  slick  en  sof 
He  '11  twis'  hisse'f  aroun'  yo'  wais', 
En  lick  his  col'  tongue  in  yo'  face, 

En  whup  yo'  shirt-tail  off. 

De  hoop-snake  roll  lak  a  waggin  tar. 
His  horn  '11  sting  you  wuss  'n  far. 

But  he  can't  'pen'  on  his  eyes. 
He  '11  slam  his  horn  right  in  some  tree, 
En  dar  he  '11  stay  en  dar  he  '11  be 

Till  de  tree  en  him  bofe  dies. 


n6 


SNAKES 

You  hits  de  j'int-snake  in  de  grass, 
En  he  busties  up,  jis'  same  as  glass, 

En  den  you  thinks  he  's  dead ; 
But  *fo'  you  goes  to  mill  en  back, 
He  's  done  j'ined  up,  en  dar  's  his  track, 

Whar  he  cross'  de  sof  san'-bed. 


117 


MYSTERIES 

How  de  flyin'  squir'l  fly  is  a  wonder  to  me, 
En  how  a  blacksnake  kin  clamb  a  tree 
Is  a  wonder  to  me. 

How  a  catfish  breave  I  jis'  can't  tell, 
En  a  chicken,  befo'  he  busties  his  shell. 
No.    I  can't  tell. 


118 


BABY'S  LEGS 

Babies'  legs  is  alius  bowed. 

Deir  legs  ain't  never  straight. 
Why,  mistis,  ain't  you  never  knowed 

You  can't  do  nothin'  but  wait  ? 

He  hoi's  his  heels  up  all  de  time, 

En  p'ints  'em  at  de  sky. 
It  's  too  soon  yit  fer  him  to  try  'm. 

Dey  '11  come  right  by  en  by. 


119; 


GRASS 

It  's  good  de  grass  is  late  to  sprout 
En  gives  de  cawn  some  start, 

'Ca'se,  if  dey  sprung  togedder,  dey 
'U'd  never  tease  apart. 

De  grass  is  had  to  fight  its  way 

Ag'in  us  all  so  long, 
Dat,  fum  its  reg'lar  wras'lin', 

It  grows  up  powerful  strong. 

It  grows  so  strong  dat,  if  you  ups 

En  leaves  it  to  itse'f, 
Dis  grass  '11  fight  dat  udder  grass 

Till  dey  chokes  deirse'ves  to  def. 


1 20 


THE  VARMINT  CONVENTION 

When  de  varmints  hilt  deir  meetin', 

Honey-loo,  honey-loo, 
T  wus  a  long  time  dey  wus  greetin'  en  er-treatin' 

en  er-eatin' 
'Fo'  dey  'cided  in  dat  meetin' 

Wut  to  do. 

Br'er  Coon  he  took  a  notion, 

Loo-honey,  honey-loo, 
'T  wus  his  time  to  make  a  motion. 

(Chicken,  shoo-shoo-shoo.) 
"If  de  motion  gwine  prevail, 
Ever'  man  jis'  raise  his  tail ; 
Don't,  de  motion  's  gwine  a  fail." 

(Hoo-doo,  hoo-doo.) 


121 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON   LAND 

Br'er  Possum  grin  a  little, 

Honey-loo-oo-oo, 
En  he  say  it  wa'n't  de  gemman 

Thing  to  do. 
"Br'er  Coon  know'  it  ain't  fair. 
His  tail  's  got  rings  en  hair, 
But  mine  is  slim  en  bare. 

(Boo-hoo,  boo-hoo.) 

"More  *n  dat,  it  ain't  fair  totin', 

Loo-loo,  honey-loo. 
Marse  Goat  's  done  done  his  votin' 

'Head  er  you. 
How  kin  it  be  fair  totin'? 
'T  ain't  nothin'  but  jis'  goatin'. 
Marse  Bill  's  gwine  keep  on  votin' 

Clean  thoo."    (Oo-oo.) 


Wid  dat  dey  falls  to  fightin', 

Loo-honey,  honey-loo. 


122 


THE  VARMINT  CONVENTION 

Bless  Gord,  it  wus  a  sight,  'n' 

Dat  is  true. 
De  goat  walk  up  a  rail, 
Shake  his  little  stubby  tail, 
En  den  he  tote  de  mail. 

(Oh,  loo-hoo-hoo.) 


123 


THE  COON  FROM  THE  COLLEGE  TOWN 

Oh,  dress  up,  ladies,  finer  'n  you  is, 

'Ca'se  you  's  gwine  wid  a  man  wut  knows  his  biz. 

De  cawn-fiel'  han'  en  de  cotton-patch  nigger, 

De  laborin'  man  don't  cut  no  figger, 

When  it 's  Come  along,  ladies,  en  foller  me  roun', 

De  dead-game  spoht  fum  de  college  town. 

I  totes  my  guitah  wid  a  shoulder  strap, 
En  now  en  again  I  gives  it  a  rap, 
Er-hummin'  ol'  chunes  fum  way  down  Souf, 
Wid  a  cigaroot  rollin'  aroun'  in  my  mouf. 
1  'd  be  plum  white,  if  I  jis'  wa'n't  brown, 
Fer  I  feels  at  home  in  de  college  town. 


124 


THE  COON  FROM  THE  COLLEGE  TOWN 

I  kerries  de  notes  wut  's  boun'  to  go 

Fum  de  boys  to  de  ladies  on  Faculty  row. 

Fer  singin'  at  night  I  gits  mo'  pay 

Dan  my  pi'  man  gits  fe*  ploughin'  all  day. 

When  dar  's  supp'n'  to  drink,  I  swallers  it  down, 

'Ca'se  I  gits  wut 's  gwine  in  de  college  town. 

Oh,  I  gits  to  look  at  de  ball  game  free 
Fer  thone  up  fouls  wut  flies  toge  me, 
En  de  tournament  costies  me  nary  a  cent, 
'Ca'se  I  sees  wut  way  de  tennis  balls  went. 
En  dey  couldn'  git  along  on  de  football  groun' 
If  it  wa'n't  fer  de  coon  fum  de  college  town. 

My  britches  belonged  to  a  rich  young  man ; 
My  coat  's  a  jim-swinger  en  my  ves'  is  tan ; 
My  collar  en  tie,  my  shoes  en  my  socks, 
When  dey  fus'  wus  bought  dey  costed  de  rocks. 
A  spoht  by  day  en  at  night  a  clown- 
On,  sich  is  de  life  er  de  college  town ! 

125 


IF 


"If  I  had  gold,"  the  ragged  plodder  said, 
"Fame's  laurel  soon  would  aureole  my  head. 
For  eloquence  and  beauty  in  my  heart 
Lie  waiting  for  the  leisure-need  of  art." 

"If  I  were  poor,"  said  he  of  idle  days, 
"Then  might  I  gain  a  people's  pride  and  praise. 
But  fame  shuns  fortune,  making  effort  vain. 
All  greatness  grows  from  poverty  and  pain." 

Oh,  patient  if!    Burdened  with  all  who  fail, 
Thine  is  a  heart-sore,  never-ending  tale ! 
And  they  who  plead  thee  know  the  hero's  lance 
Must  brave  the  armored  breast  of  circumstance. 


126 


TOT  AND  TED 

If  Tot  and  Ted  would  sit  up  late 
Till  all  the  coals  died  in  the  grate 
And  all  the  house  grew  still  and  dark 
And  Man,  the  cur,  would  not  dare  bark ; 

If  they  sat  still  and  bolt  awake 
And  would  not  leave  till  broad  daybreak, 
Their  pains  would  be  worth  while,  because 
They'd  get  to  see  old  Santa  Claus. 

So  fat  is  he,  so  small  the  flue, 
*T  were  nice  to  know  how  he  gets  through 
And  does  not  leave  a  track  of  soot 
About  the  hearth  to  mark  his  foot. 


127 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

But  Ted  and  Tot  will  not  sit  up. 
The  sandman  and  the  sleepy  cup 
Will  fill  their  eyes  and  drowse  them  so 
They'll  fall  asleep  jbef ore  they  know. 

Santa  will  see  them  when  he  comes 
Lugging  his  load  of  dolls  and  drums, 
And  he  will  smile,  as  who  should  say, 
"I  wish  grown  folks  could  sleep  that  way." 

And  when  he  fills  their  stockings  full 
Of  slings  and  sweets  and  things  to  pull, 
He'll  look  at  head  and  curly  head, 
And  say,  "Good-by,  old  Tot  and  Ted." 

How  down  the  chimney  does  he  squeeze  ? 
How  climbs  he  back  with  unskint  knees  ? 
Don't  ask  me  questions,  Ted  and  Tot : 
You  watch  and  see  the  how  and  what. 

128 


TOT   AND  TED 

If  you  can  stay  awake — just  so — 
From  sundown  until  rooster  crow 
And  watch  for  Santa's  furry  hood, 
You'll  be  the  first  that  ever  could. 


129 


BOYS'  VISIONS 

S'pose  I  could  fly ! 

I  bet  you  I  would  brag, 
Fer  not  a  gal  in  school  could  take  my  tag. 
I  'd  keep  my  wings  hid  till  they  'mos'  got  there 
'N*  nen  I  'd  sail  up,  laughin',  in  the  air, 
Danglin'  my  heels  a  leetle  out  o'  reach, 
An'  toss  'em  back  a  biscuit  er  a  peach  I 

If  I  could  fly, 

I  wouldn't  go  to  school, 
Ner  go  to  mill  a-straddle  of  no  mule. 
I  'd  jis'  sail  out  an'  see  what  I  could  fin', 
Fer  ever 'thing  I  saw,  you  know,  'd  be  mine. 
Bloodhoun's  an'  'tectives  jis'  's  well  go  die. 
I  wouldn't  make  no  tracks,  if  I  could  fly. 


130 


BOYS    MSIONS 

K  I  could  fly, 

I  'd  do  like  Robin  Hood, 
An'  rob  the  other  robbers  in  the  wood. 
I  'd  run  frum  them  a  little  ways,  right  slow, 
An'  nen  I  'd  say,  "Bye,  bye,"  an'  up  I  'd  go 
With  all  the  diamonds  what  the  robbers  had. 
My !  but  don't  you  know  't'u'd  make  'em  mad ! 

If  I  could  fly, 

I  'd  build  a  house  o'  stone, 
An'  nen  I  'd  need  a  wife,  when  I  got  grown. 
I  'd  ast  the  king  to  lemme  have  his  gal, 
Callin'  'im  to  'is  face  ol'  pard  an'  pal, 
An'  when  he  wouldn',  I  'd  jis'  say,  "That  's 

tough," 
An'  pick  the  princess  up  an'  tote  her  off. 

If  I  could  fly, 

I  'd  buy  'em  things  at  home, 
A  new  stove  an'  a  skillet  an'  a  broom, 
A  fine  horse  with  a  ribbin  on  his  tail, 

131 


LYRICS  FROM  COTTON  LAND 

'N'  nen  I  'd  gittum  a  new  milkin'  pail. 
I  bet  I  'd  make  'em  think  an'  study  some. 
Ma  'd  say,  "Where — do — these — things — come- 
f  rum  ?" 


132 


HOLDING  OFF  THE  CALF 

The\  all  '11  tell  you  I  wouldn't  mind 

A-holdin'  the  kef  at  all 
If  it  didn't  come  at  the  very  time 

I  hear  the  other  boys  call. 
Jis'  when  I  see  'em  a-goin'  by 

Wi'  their  dogs  an'  guns  in  a  hurry, 
An'  I  want  to  go,  I  hear  maw  cry 

'At  she  's  ready  to  milk  ol'  Cherry ! 
An'  there  I  stan'  wi'  the  kef  by  the  yur, 

The  boys  done  out  o'  sight, 
An'  maw  a-whang,  a-whang,  jis'  like 

She  aimed  to  take  all  night. 

'Bout  sundown  's  time  for  the  swimmin'-hole, 

But  from  me  it  's  mighty  fur : 
That  's  jis'  the  minute  each  blessed  day 

I  must  ketch  the  kef  by  the  yur. 

*33 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

The  parson,  my  bud — he  's  a  preacher,  you  know, 

But  he  can't  git  nowhere  to  preach — 
Looks  on  wi'  's  thumbs  in  'is  gallus  straps, 

Smilin'  sweet  as  a  peach. 
The  kef  is  a  fool,  don't  mean  no  harm, 

Only  wantin'  to  suck ; 
But  sometimes  I  git  so  awful  mad 

I  twisties  his  yur  like  a  shuck. 

They  all  say  I  'm  lazy,  no  count  in  the  worl', 

Only  to  raise  a  row ; 
But  I  would  n't  mind  workin'  all  times  o'  day 

'Cep'  the  time  for  milkin'  the  cow. 
Whenever  the  fellers  go  off  to  swim, 

Along  wi'  their  dogs  an'  gun, 
That  pore  white  kef,  a-wantin'  his  share, 

Heads  off  both  ends  o'  my  fun. 
But  some  sweet  day  I  '11  be  a  man, 

An'  when  I  'm  boss  myse'f, 
I  '11  ketch  ever'  boy  'at  stays  on  the  place 

An'  put  him  to  holdin'  a  kef ! 

!34 


WHEN  THE  CALVES  GET  OUT 

I  've  run  so  long  I  'm  tired  to  death ! 

I  '11  have  to  rest  a  while. 
An'  then  before  I  ketch  my  breath 

They  '11  gain  about  a  mile. 
They  '11  go  an'  keep  on  goin', 

'N'  oon't  never  turn  about, 
For  they  leave  an'  hush  their  lowin', 

When  the  keves  git  out. 

A  cow_  's  a  fool  about  her  kef ! 

If  she  kin  steal  him  off 
She  '11  lick  him  an'  enjoy  herse'f 

Like  fresh  salt  in  her  trough. 
An'  when  you  try  to  head  'em 

It 's  a  jangle  an'  a  rout. 

135 


LYRICS  FROM  (  OTTON  LAND 

They  forgit  't  wus  you  'at  fed  'em, 
When  the  keves  git  out. 

Sis  she  would  never  milk  too  late 

('F  she  had  to  herd  the  cows) 
To  try  the  bars  an'  latch  the  gate 

'Fore  goin'  to  the  house. 
But 't  ain't  the  time  for  swearin', 

An'  't  ain't  wuth  while  to  pout ; 
It  's  keep  the  bell  in  hearin', 

When  the  keves  git  out. 

I  '11  git  some  bull  to  lead  the  drove, 

An'  then  I  '11  drive  'em  slow, 
Ease  'em  along  from  grass  to  grove, 

So  they  oon't  hardly  know. 
It  never  does  to  push  'em 

An'  run  an'  rare  an'  shout ; 
You  're  losin'  time  to  rush  'em, 

When  the  keves  git  out, 

136 


CATS 

Thar  air  good  p'ints  as  well  as  bad,  that  c'recter- 

izes  cats; 
Their  purrin'  sounds  so  comf 'table,  and  then  they 

ketches  rats. 
They  likes  to  play  with  chillun,  an'  they  don't  take 

much  to  eat, 
An'  thar  's  mighty  few  housekeepers  kin  head 

'em  bein'  neat. 

An'  yit  I  never  see  a  cat,  to  study  him  a  spell, 
But  whut  thar  comes  a  feelin'  that  he's  back  an' 

forth  frum  hell; 
An'  when  he  purrs  an'  rubs  my  leg  an'  hides  his 

crooked  claws, 
Thinks  I,  Whut .  split  your  nose  any  yur  an'  made 

streaks  on  your  jaws? 

*37 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

He    's    gentle    'nough    about    the   hearth    whar 

Mandy  darns  an'  knits; 
But  watch  that  green  light  in  his  eyes  when  he 

bows  his  back  an'  spits ! 
He  stays  at  home  till  bedtime  comes  an'  then  he 

creeps  away : 
You  '11  see  him  slippin'  back  again  nex'  mornin' 

through  the  gray. 

He  's  mighty  cosy  on  the  rug,  a-lappin'  from  a 

cup; 
But  he  's  the  only  daddy  that  will  eat  his  chillun 

up. 
An'  when  the  tabby  goes  to  move,  she  grabs  a 

kitten's  head 
An'  lets  him  swing  an'  flop  about  like  he  was 

supp'n'  dead. 

To  leave  him  in  the  room  at  night,  you  know,  is 
sartain  death ; 

138 


CATS 

He  '11  snug  right  'mongst  the  blankets  an'  suck 

the  baby's  breath. 
I  've  been  at  many  a  settin'-up  with  my  departed 

kin 
Scared  half  to  death  to  see  them  cats,  like  ghos- 

ties,  comin'  in. 

I  may  be  hard  upon  ol'  Tom,  but  Growler  hates 

him,  too, 
An'  when  it  comes  to  jedgin'  hearts,  I  think  that 

dog  will  do. 
Tom  likes  an  old  maid ;  an'  he  likes  to  go  out  in 

the  road 
At  fall  o'  dusk  an'  spend  his  time  a-playin'  with 

a  toad. 

Sometimes  I  think  I  'd  like  the  job  o'  goin'  round 

the  yeth 
An'  puttin'  every  single  cat  nine  separate  times  to 

death; 

139 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

For  thar  's  a  thousand  reasons  that  I  won't  take 

time  to  tell 
Why  I  am  bound  to  b'lieve  a  cat  is  back  an'  forth 

frum  hell. 


140 


TO  ALFONSO  XIV 

Latest  in  line  of  royal  sons, 

Pink  on  your  silver  platter, 
Despite  the  bugles,  flags  and  guns, 

And  courtiers  trained  to  flatter, 
You  hoist  your  heels,  blink  at  your  toes, 

And  smile  and  stare  and  blubber, 
And  are  as  careless  of  your  clothes 

As  any  low-born  lubber. 

Softly !  you  must  not  understand, 
You  muling,  sniffling  fellow, 

You  bear  the  blood  of  Ferdinand 
And  pious  Isabella! 

You  cannot  know  the  mingled  breed 
Of  many  kingdoms,  growing 

141 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

In  your  small  shape,  the  fertile  seed 
Of  long  selected  sowing. 

When  a  few  years  shall  give  you  speech 

And  school  your  legs  to  bear  you, 
What  precepts  will  your  masters  preach 

For  kingship  to  prepare  you  ? — 
For  fetes  and  forms  and  pageantries 

And  armies  brave  with  banners, 
Till  they  accomplish  your  disguise 

And  lose  a  man  in  manners. 

Will  they  insist  on  prinks  and  prigs, 

Or  let  you  romp  and  lark  it 
And  count  your  toes  for  weebit  pigs 

A-going  all  to  market  ? 
Will  they  inform  your  pate  with  lore 

And  ancient  classic  schooling, 
Or  let  you  read,  flat  on  the  floor, 

Old  Mother  Hubbard's  fooling? 

142 


TO  ALFONSO  XIV 

'T  is  not  through  envy  of  your  state 

Or  natural  plebean  malice, 
But  could  I  bribe  who  guards  your  gate 

And  steal  into  your  palace, 
I  'd  smuggle  you  into  the  woods, 

When  oaks  are  first  in  tassel, 
And  let  you  build,  in  happy  moods, 

Many  a  Spanish  castle. 

There  you  would  learn  the  simple  need 

Of  laughter,  love,  and  labor, 
The  comm.-n  fireside  ways,  the  creed 

That  binds  one  to  his  neighbor. 
But  this  is  idle.    I  should  think 

Of  what  in  reason  may  be. 
So  here  your  royal  health  I  drink, 

You  pink,  plump,  bareleg  baby ! 


H3 


A  TOMTIT  MESSENGER 

Above  the  din  the  alien  sparrows  made 

In  the  city's  April  shade, 
I  heard  one  native  note,  one  tomtit's  cry 

Wandering  through  the  sky. 

His  tune,  though  calm,  was  like  a  bugle  call 

From  wood  and  waterfall, 
And  waked  the  memories  of  brooks  and  springs 

And  vines  and  vernal  things. 

Faster  than  his  swift  wings  might  drive  him  there 

My  thoughts  had  traveled  where 
The  oriole,  in  his  gold  and  sable  dressed, 

Sings  near  his  woven  nest ; 


144 


Azalea  Nudiflora. 

Ericaceae  (Heath  Family). 

Wild  Azalea.     Wild  Honeysuckle. 


A   TOMTIT    MESSENGER 

Where  the  wide  wood  but  half  foregoes  its  hush 

For  the  lyric-throated  thrush ; 
And  where  the  orchards  and  the  arbors  thrill 

With  the  mock-bird's  rapturous  bill. 

Only  to  courts  where  nature  still  is  queen, 

What  time  the  year  grows  green, 
These  minstrels  gather  with  their  varied  glee 

To  brake  and  brier  and  tree, 

And  leave  the  city's  cornices  and  spires 

To  those  discordant  choirs 
Whose  breed  some  ill-directed  eastward  breeze 

Blew  hither  o'er  the  seas. 

To  you,  you  wandering  tomtit,  for  the  news 

Of  April  sounds  and  hues 
And  busy  joy  of  all  the  woodland  brood, 

A  stranger's  gratitude! 


H5 


TO  ONE  WHO  IS  GOOD 

A  rainbow's  colors  canvas'd  on  a  cloud; 

A  lone  red  rose  among  the  burly  briers ; 

In  winter's  chill  the  glow  of  friendly  fires ; 
A  pitying  heart  where  other  hearts  are  proud : 
These  are  like  thee ;  and  like  thee,  too,  the  shroud 

Which  beauty  spreads  upon  the  dying  year, 

Or  some  sweet  star  that  watches,  calm  and 
clear, 
Above  the  sea  when  waves  and  winds  are  loud. 

I  know  man's  life  is  sick  with  sin  and  grief, 
Which  age  on  age  hath  not  sufficed  to  cure ; 

That  sorrow  lingers  long,  but  joy  is  brief, 

And  creeds  change,  but  the  old,  old  crimes 
endure : 

Which  vasty  gloom  serves  but  to  lend  relief 
To  thee,  for  other  souls  the  cynosure. 

146 


.■:#•; 


WmMtit 


,  *>':, 


!'.;*: 


'' v: 


DEW 

I  gits  my  chillun  up  'fo'  day, 

'Ca'se  de  dew  it  makes  de  cotton  weigh. 

I  feeds  'em  on  a  chance  er  peas, 

I  ties  de  pads  upon  deir  knees, 

En  'fo'  de  day  break  here  we  goes, 

Draggin'  our  sacks  betwix'  de  rows. 

Dem  udder  niggers  do'  know  why 

My  cotton  tetch  de  scales  so  high. 

Dar  's  supp'n'  wrong  dey  speck ;  dey  know 

Deir  famblies  gethered  row  fer  row. 

But  I  jis'  squints  en  spits — key-chew! 

Is  I  gwine  tell  'em  'bout  de  dew  ? 


147 


RACE  SUICIDE 

Old  bullbat  hen,  you  made  no  nest. 
With  two  dull  eggs  beneath  your  breast, 
Among  the  clods,  yourself  a  clod, 
You  sit  and  see  the  ploughman  plod. 

Circling  the  sunny  summer  skies, 
Now  high,  now  low,  your  bullbat  flies, 
And  stoops  anon  from  out  the  blue 
To  bray  his  jest  of  love  to  you. 

Perhaps  your  heart  is  happy  when 
You  count  your  duty  done,  old  hen; 
But  I  would  let  the  bullbat  race 
Die  out,  before  I'd  take  your  place. 


148 


RACE  SUICIDE 

If  I  were  you,  I  would  not  see 
My  bullbat  swoop  and  laugh  at  me, 
Nor  be  content,  along  the  grass, 
To  see  his  errant  shadow  pass ; 

But  by  his  side,  with  wings  as  good, 
I'd  bask  in  drifting  altitude, 
Bellow  at  clouds  and  browsing  sheep, 
And  lull  my  dust-desires  to  sleep. 


149 


THE  FIRST  FLOWER 

Under  the  leaves  on  the  south  of  the  hill, 
Where  the  wind  and  the  winter  have  wasted  theif 

will 
And  the  pale  grass  whispers  and  blinks  in  the  sun, 
The  season  of  seven  sweet  moons  is  begun ; 

The  season  of  seven  fair  crescents  and  crowns, 

Ere  the  frost  and  the  autumn's  slow  fruitage  em- 
browns 

The  green  and  the  crimson,  the  gold  and  the 
gloom 

Of  woods  where  the  first  flower  is  waked  into 
bloom. 

For  the  first  flower  is  prophet  of  all  that  was 

dreams, 

150 


THE  FIRST   FLOWER 

The  dappled  lane-shadows,  the  ripple  of  streams, 
The  old  hope  and  love  that  so  lately  were  young, 
And  the  old  song  that  waits  once  again  to  be  sung. 

Ah,  would  that  the  last  flower  might  bloom  to 

fulfill 
The  pledge  of  this  first  on  the  south  of  the  hill ! 
And  would  the  last  moon  might  incline  to  its  slope 
In  memory  as  sweet  as  this  first  is  in  hope ! 


DEAD 

They  spoke  sweet  words  above  her  bier 

Of  some  all-happy  shore, 
Where  no  pain  comes  to  cause  a  tear 

Ever  and  evermore; 
They  made  a  garden  of  her  grave, 

Where  many  a  fair  vine  creeps, 
And  to  her  tomb  this  comfort  gave: 

"She  is  not  dead;  she  sleeps." 

They  told  me  birds  would  come  to  sing 

For  her  a  lullaby; 
That  for  her  sake  the  stars  would  swing 

Their  watch-fires  through  the  sky; 
That  conscious  winds  would  will  to  stir 

The  roses  at  her  head, 

*52 


DEAD 

And  all  the  suns  would  dawn  for  her, 
Who  sleeps,  and  is  not  dead. 

They  said  her  spirit  loves  me  still, 

Sees  all,  and  understands. 
But  where  the  lips  that  spoke  her  will — 

Where  are  her  eyes  and  hands  ? 
Not  all  men's  prayer  that  she  should  live 

Can  move  the  guard  of  death, 
Nor  all  the  lore  of  ages  give 

Her  little  body  breath. 

The  birds  may  sing,  the  flowers  may  start 

Each  spring  where  old  flowers  were, 
But  I  can  never  teach  my  heart 

That  they  bear  heed  to  her. 
Nor  my  fond  passion  to  disguise 

With  light  the  path  I  grope 
Can  give  me  back  her  love-lit  eyes, 

Her  heart-beat,  and  my  hope. 

153 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

I  know  so  little !    It  is  strange 

A  flower  should  be  cut  down, 
Ere,  with  its  mates,  it  suffered  change 

To  autumn's  gradual  brown. 
But  this  I  know :  should  I  grow  old 

Beyond  the  years  of  men, 
I  shall  not  ever,  ever  hold 

My  arms  for  her  again. 


154 


VIEWPOINTS 

Down  in  his  dusty  cellar  place, 

On  a  stool  of  triple  legs, 
The  apron'd  cobbler  sits  and  drives 

His  gleaming  row  of  pegs. 

High  in  his  sunlit  window  nook, 
Above  the  rumbling  mart, 

The  poet  stares  across  the  hills 
And  meditates  his  art. 

That  each  bemoans  the  other's  lot 

Is  natural  human  pride; 
For  the  cobbler  sees  one  side  of  life, 

And  the  bard  the  other  side. 


155 


OLD  JIM  SWINK 

Ihey  tell  me  old  Jim  Swink  is  dead 

And  buried  'neath  the  bough 
Of  that  big  cedar  in  the  field 

Where  he  was  wont  to  plough. 
He  liked  to  sit  within  that  shade 

To  cool  a  bit  and  think 
That  all  the  land  he  saw  belonged 

To  old  Jim  Swink. 

He  made  me  many  a  pebble-sling 

And  many  a  locust  bow, 
And  I  would  take  him  water 

To  his  grassy  turning  row 
And  watch  his  Adam's-apple  move, 

The  while  he  stood  to  drink, 

156 


OLD  JIM  SWINK 

Up  and  down  the  leathery  neck 
Of  old  Jim  Swink. 

We  shared  our  rabbit  boxes, 

Our  powder,  shot,  and  caps. 
We  fared  through  many  a  frosty  dawn 

To  our  deadfalls  and  our  traps, 
And  ofttimes  found  in  waiting 

A  muskrat,  coon,  or  mink. 
He  was  as  much  a  child  as  I, 

Was  old  Jim  Swink. 

The  cedar  berries  cluster  blue, 

The  cedar  birds  are  gay 
Amid  the  bossy  boughs  that  shade 

The  old  man's  dust  to-day. 
He  knows  no  times  and  seasons  now, 

No  suns  will  rise  and  sink, 
No  change  of  moon  suggest  his  toil 

To  old  Jim  Swink. 

157 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON  LAND 

I  do  not  wish  to  sing  for  him 

A  song  of  curious  art ; 
This  song  would  be  more  sweet  to  him, 

Simple  as  was  his  heart. 
He  would  be  glad  if  he  could  know 

How  tenderly  I  think 
Of  those  wild,  rough,  go-lucky  days 

With  old  Jim  Swink. 


158 


THE  DOODLE  BUG 

Under  a  log  propped  high  enough  to  leave  a 
sheltered  place 

The  doodle  bug  he  delves  his  home  and  propa- 
gates his  race. 

He  delves  it  in  the  doodle  dust  and  makes  it  very 
cavey 

That  every  ant  that  blunders  in  may  be  his  meat 
and  gravy. 

Here  I  draw  a  tickle  straw.    Linkum,  tinkum, 

tire. 
Come  up,  doodle,  doodle  bug!  Your  house  is  afire. 

The  doodle  feels  the  doodle  dust  cave  down  where 
he  is  hid. 


159 


LYRICS  FROM  COTTON  LAND 

He  thinks  an  ant's  feet  must  have  done  what  my 

pine  needle  did. 
He  bulges  through  his  powdery  floor  and  jerks 

himself  around, 
And  then  is  when  I  lay  him  out  upon  the  solid 

ground. 


Weed  '11  do;  needle,  too;  willow  wand,  or  wire. 
Come  up,  doodle,  doodle  bug!     Your  house  is 
afire. 


You  need  n't  use  a  straw  at  all,  but  blow  into  his 

home, 
And,  yicky,  yecky,  yerky,  jerky,  up  that  bug  will 

come. 
No  bones,  no  blood,  no  hair  or  heels,  no  tail,  no 

tools  for  strife, 
A  little  ball  of  rubber  he,  electrified  with  life. 

160 


THE  DOODLE  BUG 

Woe  and  death;  blozv  your  breath;  run  here  and 

respire. 
Doodle,  doodle,  doodle  bug,  your  house  is  afire. 

And  why  the  good  Lord  made  him  I  cannot  figure 

out. 
There  's  nothing  to  him  but  his  shape  and  his 

two-horned  snout. 
And  how  he  gets  from  place  to  place  is  more  than 

I  can  tell, 
But  where  the  doodle  dust  invites  the  doodle  bug 

doth  dwell. 

Yinky  yanky,  snicky  snacky.    Jerk  until  you  tire* 
Doodle  bug,  O  doodle  bug!    Your  house  is  afire. 

Perhaps  who  made  the  roses  sweet  and  made  the 

blue  sky  fair 
That  weary  human  hearts  might  find  surcease  of 

toil  and  care 

161 


LYRICS   FROM   COTTON   LAND 

Designed  this  dusty  delver,  this  petty  beast  of 

prey, 
That  children  might  be  happier  with  one  more 

game  to  play. 

Doodle  bug,  oodle  ug,  irky,  icky,  ire. 

Come  up  to  the  surface,  lad!    Your  house  is  afire. 


162 


AUTUMN 

Heavy  with  sleep  is  the  old  farmstead ; 

The  windfall  of  orchards  is  mellow ; 
The  green  of  the  gum  tree  is  shot  with  red, 

The  poplar  is  sprinkled  with  yellow. 
Sluggish  the  snake  and  leafy  the  stream  ; 

The  fieldmouse  is  fat  in  his  burrow ; 
Sun-up  sets  millions  of  dewdrops  a-gleam 

Where  the  late  grass  is  grown  in  the  furrow. 

Oh,  the  smell  of  the  fennel  is  autumn's    own 
breath, 

And  the  sumac  is  dyed  in  her  blood ; 
The  charr  of  the  locust  is  what  her  voice  saith, 

And  the  cricket  is  one  with  her  mood. 
Soft  are  her  arms  as  soft-seeded  grass, 

The  bluebells  at  dawn  are  her  eyes, 

163 


LYRICS  FROM  COTTON  LAND 

And  slow  as  slow  winds  are  her  feet  as  they  pass 
Her  bees  and  her  butterflies. 

And  when  I  grow  sick  at  man's  sorrow  and  crime, 

At  the  pain  on  pale  womanly  faces, 
At  the  fever  that  frets  every  heart-throb  of  time, 

At  all  that  brings  grief  or  debases, 
I  thank  God  the  world  is  as  wide  as  it  is, 

That  't  is  sweet  still  to  hope  and  remember ; 
That,  for  him  who  will  seek  them,  the  valleys  are 
his 

And  the  far  quiet  hills  of  September. 


164 


THE  THREE  TOTS 

Three  tots  went  out  in  the  early  days 

To  see  what  spring  had  done. 
"Let  's  find  us  flowers  along  the  ways 

Most  like  the  spring,"  said  one. 
"Let  's  find  a  flower  of  sky-like  blue, 
A  flower  that  for  the  clouds  will  do, 
And  a  flower  of  such  a  golden  hue 
It  well  might  be  the  sun." 

One  found  a  crocus,  for  the  sky ; 

And  one  found,  bright  and  bold, 
A  dogwood,  white  as  clouds  on  high, — 

More  clouds  than  three  could  hold ; 
And  one  went  far  to  woodland  ways 
And  found  a  jasmine's  torch  a -blaze. 
So  were  complete  the  early  days : 

Sapphire,  silver,  gold. 

165 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

''Would  we  could  meet  with  Spring,"  said 
one. 

"Her  garden  grew  these  flowers ; 
This  crocus-sky,  this  jasmine-sun, 

These  clouds  for  petal  showers. 
'T  is  not  long  since  she  's  been  this  way. 
She  's  wandering  in  these  woods  to-day. 
How  she  'd  be  pleased  to  watch  us  play 

This  game  of  hers  and  ours !" 


166 


AT  THE  DANCE 

She  seemed  to  watch  the  dancers  pass 

And  listen  to  the  thrill 
Of  flutes  and  strings  that  swelled  and  sank 

As  they  had  had  one  will. 
She  seemed  to  see  and  hear  and  mark 

Each  moment's  fall  and  rise. 
Why  else  that  bright  rose  in  her  cheek, 

That  great  light  in  her  eyes  ? 

She  did  not  turn  about  to  meet 

His  gaze  who  whispered  near ; 
Save  for  the  flutter  of  her  hands, 

She  seemed  not  even  to  hear. 
She  did  not  part  her  lips  to  speak 

A  single  answering  word, 
But  there  were  they  who  saw  her  throat 

Quiver,  and  knew  she  heard. 

167 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON   LAND 

And  there  were  they  who  knew  her  cheek 

Bloomed  not  from  music's  art; 
The  lustre  in  her  waking  eyes 

Could  burn  but  from  her  heart ; 
The  sinuous  sounds  and  lissom  steps 

About  the  lighted  hall 
Faintly  upon  her  senses  fell 

As  the  shadows  on  the  wall. 

Hither  and  thither  went  the  throng ; 

Laughter  and  life  ran  high ; 
Gay  youth  and  girlhood  passed  and  took 

The  smell  of  roses  by. 
She  was  not  conscious  that  they  lived ; 

Amid  their  rounds  of  mirth 
(Save  for  his  presence  at  her  side) 

She  was  alone  on  earth. 

It  was  a  blessed  hour  for  her ; 

For  them  a  blessed  hour 
Who  saw  her  woman's  heart  unfold 

168 


AT   THE  DANCE 

As  it  had  been  a  flower; 
Who  saw  a  new  light  in  her  eyes 

Kindle  and  grow  to  dawn — 
The  light  that  none  in  heaven,  and  few 

On  earth  may  look  upon. 

And  they  who  saw  and  understood 

Knew  hardly  what  they  felt : 
It  was  as  if  at  some  new  shrine 

Of  beauty  they  had  knelt 
And  shared  the  wonder  of  a  joy 

Whose  wordless  lips  confess 
The  height  of  all  high  things,  the  depth 

Of  utter  tenderness. 


169 


LYRICS  FROM   C0TT3M  LAND 


'FETCH   DAT   MILLION   ROUN'  TO   ME 
170 


SELFISHNESS 

Dar  you  is !    Dar  you  is ! 

I  jis'  knowed  't  wus  you. 
Mornin's  I  is  seed  yo'  trail 

Stragglin'  'cross  de  dew. 
Dat's  why  I  sayed  I  'us  gwine  off, 

When  I  wa'n't  studyin'  gwine : 
I  aimed  to  watch  en  see  you  break 

Dat  million  fum  de  vine. 
You  need  n'  lie !    I  seed  you,  boy ! 

You  need  n'  try  to  run ; 
You  need  n'  hide  behin'  de  house, 

'Ca'se  dat  won't  he'p  you  none. 
But  fetch  dat  million  roun'  to  me. 

I  needs  dat  fruit  myse'f . 
You  stan'  right  over  dar  en  see 

If  any  gwine  be  lef. 

171 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON  LAND 

You  thought  you  'd.eat  it  all,  you  did, 
Now,  all  you  '11  git  's  de  rin\ 

I  hates  dat  sich  a  selfish  kid 
Happened  to  be  mine  1 


172 


-     DESERTED  :* 

She  strove  to  hide 

Her  heart-break   from  us    ('t  was  her  maiden 
pride) 

And  as  she  went 

From  room  to  room  upon  her  duty  bent 

She  made  gay  quips, 

Nor  could  we  tell  a  quiver  at  her  lips. 

j 

'When  all  was  still 

Deep  in  the  night,  except  one  whippoorwill, 

We,  wakeful  yet, 

Heard  when  she  sobbed,  and  knew  her  cheeks 
were  wet. 

173 


GRANDADDY-LONG-LEGS 

Grandaddy  spider, 

Spread  your  legs  wider, 
Sniff  some,  and  study,  and  scent, 

And  show  me  the  way 

My  cow  went  to-day, 
The  way  that  my  milk  cow  went. 

I  '11  tickle  your  back 

To  give  me  her  track 
And  to  tell  where  she  's  browsing  now. 

Lift  up  a  foot 

And  point  it,  and  put 
Me  straight  on  the  trail  o'  my  cow. 


174 


THE  CASTLE  BUILDER 

Come  back,  tired  dreams,  across  the  sea,  and  rest 

These  other  years  with  me, 
Like  weary  migrants  to  an  empty  nest 

Where  singing  used  to  be. 

Tired  boyhood  dreams,  if  I  had  followed  you, 

Had  done  your  proud  behest, 
Had  crossed  the  purple  hills  that  barred  my  view 

And  braved  the  giant  West, 

Had  sailed  the  Eastern  oceans  where  your  wings 

Flashed  white  against  the  blue, 
Perhaps  they  had  not  been  mere  shadow  kings 

That  all  our  lives  we  knew, 


175 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON  LAND 

But  Pharaoh's  realm  and  Egypt's  wine  and  corn 

And  all  men's  high  esteem, 
Had  Joseph's  courage  in  my  heart  been  born 

A  twin  with  Joseph's  dream. 


17b 


TO-MORROW 

Though  sun  after  sun  set  on  dreams  unfulfilled, 
And  night  after  night  fall  in  sorrow, 

Faint  hope  is  revived  and  old  courage  new-thrilled 
With  the  promise  that  beckons  to-morrow. 

She  lures  every  pilgrim  from  childhod  to  age ; 

She  downs  every  pillow  with  pleasure; 
To  the  ill-guided  pencil  she  lends  a  new  page ; 

She  pilots  the  poor  to  her  treasure. 

The  great  song  for  singing,  the  far  height  to 
reach, 

The  heart  that  at  last  makes  confession, 
The  wisdom  that  all  other  days  could  not  teach : 

These  are  her  pledge  and  possession. 


177 


LYRICS  FROM    COTTON   LAND 

For  some  there  is  faith,  for  all  there  is  hope, 
When  the  dark  falls  behind  and  before  us, 

And  the  sun  is  no  more,  we  shall  not  need  to 
grope, 
But  shall  find  her  own  face  dawning  o'er  us. 


I78 


A  CHOICE 

Our  senses  wake  so  stupidly 

From  the  dim  dawn  of  birth, 
Become  so  gradually  aware 

Of  all  that  makes  the  earth, 
That,  ere  we  halve  our  journey, 

Grass  and  green  trees  and  flowers 
Are  common  things,  and  even  the  sun 

But  serves  to  mark  the  hours. 

Would  you  have  chosen,  had  you  known 

And  heaven  been  so  content, 
To  live  unconscious  of  the  light, 

Of  form  and  sound  and  scent, 
Until  your  heart  had  learned  its  wish 

And  your  brain  its  guided  prime : 
Then  to  have  had  the  world  burst  forth 

All  in  one  pulse  of  time  ? 

179 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

I  think  not.    When  you  came  to  count 

The  quiet  tale  of  years, 
The  friendly  welcome  for  each  flower 

Whose  season  reappears, 
The  well-trod,  unsurprising  path 

That  leads  from  dawn  to  dusk 
And  on  from  April's  swelling  bud 

To  winter's  empty  husk, 

I  do  not  think  that  you  would  take, 

As  worth  the  loss  of  these, 
A  blaze  of  sudden  glory 

That  would  bring  you  to  your  knees ; 
Nor  should  I  wish  to  stand  in  awe 

And  worship,  what  I  love, 
The  old  grass  cool  beneath  my  feet 

And  the  old  stars  calm  above. 


180 


THE  IRON  DOOR 

Whether  I  gaze  into  the  night 
At  suns  that  seem  mere  points  of  light, 
And,  framing  metaphors  to  reach 
Through  vastness  with  the  art  of  speech, 
I  learn  that  lighted  space  is  wrought 
Too  wide  for  even  the  range  of  thought; 

Or  whether  in  the  depths  I  grope 
For  monsters  of  the  microscope 
That  prey  and  sport,  are  born  and  die, 
And  feel  that,  'neath  the  aided  eye, 
Life  feeds  on  life,  gate  leads  to  gate, 
Too  deep  for  thought  to  penetrate : 

How  small  am  I  for  care  or  curse 
From  the  Maker  of  the  universe ! 

181 


LYRICS  FROM   COTTON  LAND 

How  great,  above  the  microsprites, 
Thus  to  be  left  with  broken  lights, 
Through  toil  and  prayer  and  pain,  to  find, 
If  so  I  can,  the  Maker's  mind ! 

Food,  that  my  body  may  not  die ; 

Love,  that  my  kind  may  multiply ; 

Birds  and  fair  blooms,  that  time  flow  sweet 

Over  my  head,  about  my  feet : 

And  farther  would  I  delve  or  soar 

I  bruise  me  at  an  iron  door. 


182 


THE  TENANT 

To  die  and  to  live  are  the  nearest  of  neighbors, 
And  death  is  to  life  the  closest  of  kin ; 

Heir  to  life's  harvest  of  love  and  her  labors, 
The  skull  waits  under  the  skin. 

But  while  she  endures  she  guards  her  possession  ; 

Hers  is  the  key  to  the  citadel  locks ; 
Even  the  Lord,  when  he  covets  admission, 

Stands  at  the  door  and  knocks. 

Patient,  O  Death,  thy  reign  is  hereafter, 
Bide  thee  thy  crowning  and  keep  thee  apart ! 

Mine  this  estate,  this  lease  upon  laughter, 
Mine  all  the  love  in  my  heart. 


183 


HORSEMINT 

In  the  calm  of  summer  lanes 
And  the  hoof-betrodden  spaces, 
Idle  over-pastured  places, 

There  the  dusty  horsemint  reigns. 

Not  for  him  the  crowded  croft, 
Nor  the  fertile  flow  of  meadow ; 
Not  for  him  the  sheltering  shadow 

Where  the  dew-damp  soil  is  soft. 

Monarch  of  deserted  lands, 

Where  no  bee  roams  from  the  thicket, 
Lost  to  butterfly  and  cricket, 

Robed  in  sober  hues  he  stands. 


184 


HORSEMINT 

Safe  from   scythe  or  ploughman's  share, 
None  molest  and  many  love  him ; 
Even  the  ox  that  breathes  above  him 

Browses  by  and  leaves  him  there. 

King  is  he  o'er  dearth  and  death : 
His  dim  colors  have  their  glory, 
And  some  hint  of  far,  faint  story 

Haunts  the  August  of  his  breath, 

Waking  memories  in  my  heart 
Of  its  childhood's  Eldorado, 
Magic  sunshine,  shower,  and  shadow 

In  the  land  without  a  ch3rt. 


185 


IN  THE  WOODS. 

Deep  in  the  woods  I  have  loitered  to-day; 
Heard  the  hoarse  bees  droning  summer  away : 
Saw  the  leaf-specters  at  games  witli  the  breeze, 
And  lured  a  gray  squirrel  to  perch  on  my  knees. 

Plenty  and  peace  were  in  love  with  the  land, 
Wild  apples  lifted  their  fruit  to  the  hand; 
Sweet  was  the  nut  and  the  mast  of  the  pine, 
But  sweeter  the  gift  of  the  wild  grapevine. 

I  did  not  affect  a  rapture  unknown 
(May  one  not  be  honest  when  one  is  alone?) 
But  I  left  free  my  heart  with  Nature's  to  blend 
And  share  all  her  secrets  as  friend  shares  with 
friend. 

186 


IN    THE    WOODS 

But  she,  God's  creation,  is  silent  as  God, 
Dumb  as  the  blossom  she  calls  from  the  sod; 
And  her  worshipper  fancies  't  is  she  that  reveals 
The  wonders  and  signs  that  his  own  spirit  feels. 

Over  the  world  from  its  far,  quiet  crest, 

The  sun-arrows  shot  aslant  from  the  west, 

And  I  know  not  what  moved  me  from  out  of  the 

years, 
But  that  dying  sunset  was  dim  with  their  tears. 

The  forest  grew  darker,  and  sank  to  a  hush, 
Save  the  loud,  sudden  cry  at  the  roost  of  the 

thrush, 
And  the  audible  silence,  the  breath  of  a  sprite, 
The  wind  and  the  delicate  leaves  in  the  night. 

And  in  the  weird  spirit  that  autumn  controls, 
I  thought  I  had  felt  the  presence  of  souls, 
The  mystic  desire  of  the  heart  ill  at  ease, 
Which  all  men  pursue  and  no  man  may  appease. 


187 


TO  SLEEP. 

Wherein  have  I  displeased  thee,  fickle  Sleep, 
O,  sweetheart,  Sleep,  that  thou  so  far  away 
Hast  wandered  and  hast  made  so  long  thy  stay  ? 

I  perish  for  some  spell  to  call  and  keep 

Thee  near  me,  that  thy  gentle  arts  may  steep 
My  brain  with  calm,  from  dusk  till  dawn  of 

day! 
The  night's  long  hours  are  blind  and  love  delay, 

But,  with  thee,  I  would  bless  them  that  they  creep. 

Once,  night  by  night,  as  loves  own  self  wast 
thou; 
Over   my   boyhood's   couch   didst   loose   the 

powers 
Born  of  the  opiate  breath  of  autumn  flowers, 

188 


TO  SLEEP 

And   with  thine  own  cool  hand  assuaged   my 

brow ; 
Wherefore,  I  pray  thee,  keep  not  from  me  now, 
For  I  am  summer,  and  thou  art  her  showers. 


189 


THE  TAR  HEEL  LIBRARY 


SONGS  MERRY  AND  SAD. 

By  John  Charles  McNeil.  Second  edition,  with  por- 
trait. Price,  Cloth,  $1.00  net;  by  mail,  $1.06.  Limp 
Leather,  $1.50  postpaid. 

"  McNeil  was  a  poet  because  he  looked  life  straight  in 
the  eyes,  felt  the  virgin  wonder  and  glory  of  it  all,  and 
knew  how  to  body  forth  his  feeling  in  lines  of  exquisite  art 
and  compelling  appeal.  '  I  would  rather  have  written 
"  Songs  Merry  and  Sad  "  than  to  have  the  costliest  monu- 
ment in  the  State  erected  to  my  memory.'  The  equal  of 
that  little  volume  has  not  appeared  in  the  South  since  Sidney 
Lanier  fell  on  sleep  twenty-six  years  ago." — C.  Alphonso 
Smith. 

LYRICS  FROM  COTTON  LAND. 

By  John  Charles  McNeil.  Second  edition.  Illus- 
trated with  drawings  by  A.  B.  Frost  and  E.  W.  Kemble  and 
photographs  by  Mrs.  W.  O.  Kibble  with  portrait  and  bio- 
graphical sketch  of  the  author ;  also  description  and  picture  of 
famous  "  Patterson  Cup."  Artistically  bound  in  Bandana 
Cloth.     Price  $1.50  postpaid. 

"  Lyrics  from  Cotton  Land  "  will  remain  a  priceless  leg- 
acy to  the  children  of  the  South.  It  is  a  voice  that  had  be- 
come almost  a  memory.  It  is  a  key  to  the  treasure  house 
of  a  period  fast  receding.  It  glorifies  with  simple  and  soul- 
ful melody  the  tender  grace  of  a  day  that  is  dead.  '  Uncle 
Remus,'  up  to  the  advent  of  the  brilliant  young  Scotchman, 
was  the  most  faithful  and.  accurate  exponent  of  '  Mr.  Nig- 
ger,'; in  the  realm  of  letters;  but  Joel  Chandler  Harris  is 
not  a  whit  more  lifelike  in  his  portrayal  of  the  language  as 
well*  as  the  spirit  of  the  old-time  darkey  than  John  Charles 
McNeil."—  Charity  &  Children.  * 


STONE  k  BARRINGER  CO., 

Publishers 

CHARLOTTE,  NORTH  CAROLINA 


Y    ' ' 


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